


Twist Me to the Left

by GrapefruitTwostep



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Also Drugs and Rock and Roll, Alternate Universe - No Bending, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, F/M, This Program Acknowledges the Existence of Sex, Vast Amounts of Cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2018-11-01 13:05:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 91,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10922388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrapefruitTwostep/pseuds/GrapefruitTwostep
Summary: So here Zuko is, with no family, no band, and no more record contract. Just another punker with a guitar who thinks he's got what it takes. Then he meets Avatar, the band breaking all the rules. They've got everything going for them, the rising star, and they're everything Zuko isn't. But maybe, just maybe, they want a new guitarist. As long as the pretty keyboardist with the blue eyes doesn't murder Zuko first.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This came about after reading a discussion of whether Zuko was punk or emo; my answer got slightly out of control and has extended to equating bending to music and musical genres, figuring out how the Avatar could be reflected, and learning a lot more about modern Indie music than I wanted to.
> 
> It's also an excuse to listen to and reference a lot of punk music which I'd do anyway so no loss there.

The band sounded like shit.

Zuko stopped playing about a minute into the song. It took the rest of them a couple seconds to realize he had, then slowly instruments began to fade out. First the drummer, then the singer wobbling off to a strangled note, leaving just Irin on the bass plugging away as though he had something to offer.

“Dude.” The singer, a skinny boy named Sazo—-it was only his third practice with the band—-nudged Irin, who looked up, winced, and stopped playing.

Zuko sat down on an amp. He leaned his guitar on the edge next to him and put his head in his hands. “Face it, guys,” he said. “We suck.”

Internally, Zuko knew that it was  _ them _ that sucked. He was still the same solid if sometimes not particularly interesting guitarist who had managed to anchor Burn Bitches for four years, before...well, everything had gone bad. 

“Aw, some on,” Irin said, leaning across Sazo to punch Zuko in the shoulder. “It’s not that bad. We’ll work it out.”

“No,” said Sherang, the drummer and probably the only other member of the band that had any clue what good music was supposed to sound like. “We probably won’t.”

Zuko tilted his head back. The practice room, so much more crowded and less well kept than the ones he’d grown up with, crushed his awareness into a tight beige cube. There was a hole in the wall behind the door, which didn’t do much to help the soundproofing aspect. 

“Well, sounds great guys.” Sherang pulled himself out from behind the drum kit and headed for the door. “I’ll see you later for some more ear pain.”

“Come on, man!” Sazo waved his hands after Sherang, but the drummer didn’t even turn. He already had his phone out. Sazo deflated slightly. He looked at Zuko. “Were we really that bad?”

_ Yes _ , Zuko wanted to tell him.

Instead he just grunted and didn’t say anything constructive. “You guys should head out too,” he said. “I’m going to hang out and practice for another minute or so. Let’s just talk later, okay? Maybe we’ll work some stuff out on our own.”

Sazo nodded and only waited long enough for Irin to pack up his bass and sling its soft case over his shoulder before the two of them followed Sherang out the door. Zuko made sure it was closed behind them, then dropped his head into his hands and moaned.

Six months ago and everything had been so easy. He’d been in a great band—-sure, he’d had to deal with his shitty sister, but she was such a great singer that he’d accepted it—-there’d been talk of a record deal with the help of some serious nepotism, and everything was looking great. And then had come the fight with his dad, then the fire in the studio, then the hospital stay…

Then getting kicked out of the band while half his face was still a mess.

And now here he was, scraping to pay his bills, chasing some record deal that was probably no more than ash, and trying to put a band together that would be anything like Burn Bitches. There was no way he could recreate that success. They seemed to have moved on from him; Azula, ever talented, had simply picked up a guitar and everything was fine from there on out.

He, on the other hand, couldn’t even find a solid drummer.

He picked up his guitar and played a couple of chords. That, at least, was still his. The neck had been rubbed raw on the back from the heel of his hand. The body was red plastic and a single worn sticker of a stylized flame—-the logo of his dad’s label—-still clung to it. 

A reminder.

The door opened.

“Hello, Zuko,” Azula said.

Zuko’s hands tightened on the guitar, but he only looked up through his long bangs for a second before dropping his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

Azula stalked into the practice room. Her chunky heels clicked on the floor. The zipper on her jacket jangled. “This place looks...awful.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. How did you find me?”

She waved one fine boned hand. Her black nails were flawless. “Zuzu, it’s not as though there are that many places to hide.”

“Azula.”

She pouted. “Fine. The bouncer at that club you like told me where you practiced.”

Zuko sighed. It was impossible to be mad at them for telling Azula anything. Hell, Zuko would probably have told her anything she wanted to know if she looked at him with that nasty spark in her eye. Deciding he’d ignored her for long enough, he put down his guitar and flipped his head back. “What do you want?”

Azula examined her nails. “I’m not allowed to check on my darling brother?”

“No.”

She sighed and flipped her long hair over her shoulder. When she sang, she wore it up. Otherwise, she let it hang down over her wide shoulders—-a trait she shared with Zuko. Not that his hair was a long as hers...but it was getting close. Maybe he should consider a cut. Otherwise they’d star looking alike.

Instinctively, his hand rose to his scared face. No, maybe not. They weren’t going to look alike ever again.

Azula snorted and he looked up. “Yes, Zuko, it  _ does _ look as bad as you think it does. Pity, really. I certainly can’t let your horrible face ruin my band. Even if I wanted you back.”

Zuko stood. He was tall enough that most people would have taken a step back. Azula didn’t move. Her red lips twisted into a smirk, but none of that humor reached her eyes.

“Get out,” he told her.

Azula threw her hands up. “Fine,  _ Zuzu _ . I’ll let you wallow. Just remember.” She winked at him. “We don’t want you back.”

“Out!”

Azula sashayed out of the practice room, laughing. Zuko slammed the door behind her, then leaned his forehead against the cool metal. Why had he been saddled with someone so terrible for a sister? And if that wasn’t bad enough, she was just so damn good at any instrument she picked up.

And damn it, she was probably right. 

Zuko groaned and banged his head against the door.

He had to go. He had to head home, or to work, or anywhere else. The cracked walls of the practice room closed in around him. 

Something crashed next door.

Zuko jumped. He smashed his head on the door and yelped, but the crashing continued. It echoed through the walls. Gradually, Zuko’s ears began to work out one sound from another and the sound organized itself into drumming.

Some of the most hardcore metal drumming Zuko had ever heard.

“Holy shit.” He pushed away from the door and shoved his guitar back into its case. Throwing the strap over his shoulder, he shoved his way out into the dingy hallway and followed the drumming down the hall.

One practice room door was half open. Zuko paused and tilted his head to peer in through the crack. Inside was a girl pounding away at a drum kit in a way that would have snapped anyone else’s wrists. She had thick muffs over her ears and her eyes were closed, which was especially surprising given how fast her hands moved. But she didn’t miss a beat, and seemed to know just where every drum was, even without looking. Her sticks were a blur.

Zuko watched, openmouthed, for about five minutes. He couldn’t pull away. It wasn’t that he was unaware of good drumming—-Mai was a good drummer, that was for sure—-but this girl was like nothing he’d ever seen.

She raised her sticks and pulled the ear muffs off her ears. “You know I know you’re there, right?” she said.

“Uh.” Zuko felt like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Sorry, just...you’re really good. I got distracted.”

The girl grinned. She’d opened her eyes, but didn’t look at him. Instead she’d focused on something about a foot to his left. Zuko glanced in that direction, but saw nothing but water damaged plaster.

“Yeah, I know,” the girl said, pride swelling in her voice. “I’m pretty great.”

Zuko snorted. “And modest.”

“Who needs modesty?” The girl extracted herself from behind the kit and stretched. Now that she wasn’t obscured by cymbals and muffs, Zuko realized how small she was. Not petite, but built like an olympic gymnast, with wide shoulders and thick, muscular legs. Her face was wide and pointed, and she wore her dark hair loose and wild, in sort of a 70’s Joan Jett or Gaye Black thing. But the most striking thing about her were her eyes, cunning, mischievous, and clouded white.

She reached for a white cane leaning against the wall, which answered Zuko’s unspoken question. Someone—-probably not her—-had painted a dragon on the top of it. Or Zuko thought it was a dragon. It could also have been a very long noodle or potentially a weiner dog. The artist hadn’t been very good.

“How do you do that?” Zuko asked.

“Years of practice,” she said tersely, and made her way over towards the door, cane waving delicately an inch or so above the floor. “Why are you creeping on me?”

“Oh, uh, I practice next door.” Zuko jerked a thumb in that direction, then realized she wouldn’t be able to see it. He wasn’t sure what to do now, so he fell silent, feeling stupid.

“Oh.” The girl’s dark eyebrows went up. “You guys sound like shit. I’m Toph.”

Zuko blinked. Which part was he supposed to respond to first? Manners took over and he said, “I’m Zuko,” and stuck his hand out.

Which was really stupid.

Her eyebrows rose even further. “You’re trying to get me to shake your hand aren’t you.”

Zuko let his hand drop. “Um…”

“Yeah, everyone does it.” Toph waved the cane. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Uh, cool.” Zuko stuffed his hand into his pocket, although his fingers itched. “Um, where’d you learn that?”

“What, to drum?” Toph shrugged. Her mouth quirked into a half smile that reminded him of Azula when she was younger, before she’d been so cruel. “It was my teenage rebellion. My parents hated it so I really loved it.” The smile cracked into a full grin, revealing small, pearl-like teeth, white even against her pale face. “I’m good, right?”

“Uh, yeah. You are.” Zuko shook his head. What was he supposed to do with this tiny, blunt little thing? “I’ve never heard anyone do some of that stuff.”

Toph shrugged. “Yeah, your drummer couldn’t find a beat with both hands, and  _ I _ should know.” She tapped her cane against the stained carpet. “What do you play? Not the drums, I hope.”

“Guitar.”

Toph’s smile widened even further, until Zuko worried her head would split open all the way around, like a melon. “Alright, you’re okay though. Not a half bad guitarist. What’s your band called?”

Zuko swallowed and looked away. “We don’t have a name yet. We’re working on it though. I uh...I used to be part of a better band though.”

“Yeah?” Toph leaned on the cane, which bent slightly under her weight. “Which one?”

“You heard of Burn Bitches?”

Toph’s eyebrows shot up. “Holy shit,  _ you _ were in Burn Bitches? They’re good. Real good. Why’d you leave?”

How had he gotten into this unpleasantly personal conversation with some girl he’d only just met. Zuko sighed. He didn’t know how to escape now. “Uh,” he said, hand drifting up to the scar on his cheekbone, “contractual differences.”

“They kicked you out, huh,” Toph said.

Zuko snorted out a tiny laugh, and Toph rolled her shoulders back. It was somewhat disconcerting to have her smile at him without actually looking at him, but her good mood was infectious. Even to Zuko, who had been told he was somewhat immune to happiness, especially these days.

“Are you in a band?” he asked, hoping she wasn’t and he could kick everyone out of his band to get her into it.

Toph nodded. Her pale eyes crinkled. “Yup! They’re almost as good as I am. Almost.” She shrugged. “Actually, we’ve got a show tonight. You should come.”

Zuko cocked his head. He hadn’t been to show in a long time, though he’d kept up on the local music scene tangentially. The guys in his band told him most of what he needed to know; who was bad, who was good, who should die in a fire.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” he said, mostly because he wanted to hear Toph play again, and maybe figure out how she got her hands to go that fast when she couldn’t even see where the drums were. “Where’s your show?”

“Dragon’s Roost. We’re headlining. Doors open at seven though, if you wanna meet my band. They’re pretty cool.”

“Yeah, uh, that’d be great.”

Toph reached into the army green messenger bag leaning against the drum stool and fished around, coming up with a piece of paper. “Here, look at this. Is this a flyer?”

It was hard for Zuko to tell, because Toph was waving it around, but he caught the name of the venue in bold letters near the bottom. “Yeah, that looks like it.”

Toph grabbed the bag and swung it over her shoulder. “I gotta motor, but you take this.” She shoved the flyer into his hands, crumpling it. “I’ll see you there, okay?”

“Yeah, sounds good.” Zuko bit his lip. Should he offer to show her out? Hold open doors or something? But she was already leaving, cane waving, unerring in each step. Clearly she didn’t need anyone’s help.

He smoothed the flyer out on the thigh of his dark jeans and held it up.

_ Dragon’s Roost presents! _ blared the flyer.  _ The Most Exciting New Group of the Year Releases Their Debut Album!  _

**_AVATAR._ **

“Holy shit,” Zuko said.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did promise Zutara and I'm going to deliver. I just have to work out a lot of plot before then...

Groaning, Katara straightened, depositing the last of Toph’s many drums on the stage. Her back ached already and she was still wearing sensible flats instead of the heels she liked to wear on stage. Not stilettos or anything, just some nice chunky ones that made the muscles stand out in her calves. But for this? No way.

Toph poked at each drum with the end of her cane, assessing it through some method Katara didn’t understand. Not that it mattered. Everything was on stage and ready to go. She had to plug in her keyboard and had no time to figure out what Toph wanted to do with her drums. That was Aang’s job.

Katara gave her back a twist and something popped low in her spine. She winced.

“Hey, Katara!” Sokka stumbled in the back door, laden down with cables, microphones, and all sorts of other electrical equipment they probably didn’t need. “Could you maybe give me a hand with this if you’re not going to help anyone else?”

“I am helping.” Katara raised an eyebrow and gestured to Toph’s drums with both hands. The venue was still empty apart from the band and a sound engineer leaning on the side of the booth, staring down at her phone. “I carried all of this down here.”

“Pffft,” Toph said. “All of it. Sure.”

“More than you.”

“Sokka, move please.” Aang pushed in behind Sokka, all elbows and knees. He grinned at Katara, that small, delicate little smile that he seemed to save only for her, and she smiled back. Her favorite kid, still all elbows and knees even at nineteen, when he should have grown into his limbs. His face still held the roundness of boyhood. 

Sokka, a contrast to Aang—built broad shouldered and lean like his and Katara’s father—didn’t get out of Aang’s way for a second, then stumbled across the threshold onto the venue floor and promptly dropped a bundle of cable onto his own foot.

Ignoring Sokka’s yelping, Aang crossed to the stage. “You want help?” he asked Toph.

“Yeah, I could use some.” Toph stared daggers at her high hat as though it had offended her.

Smiling, Katara stepped down off the stage to help Sokka untangle his ankles. Aang helped Toph set up for every show. He knew where her drums went probably better than she did. It was a multi-person affair to get Toph ready to go, with multiple checks, but once everything was in place, Toph wouldn’t miss a single beat.

Sokka grumbled as Katara knelt to help him. “You know, we need to get something to carry all of this mess,” he told her.

“What, don’t you like Appa?”

Sokka rolled his eyes. “I meant like a big box, Katara. Of course I like Appa. That van is the most faithful creature in my life. It would never leave us. I think my relationship with Appa is better than with any girlfriend I’ve ever had.”

“Oh yeah, all of Sokka’s myriad relationships,” Katara said.

“Listen.” Sokka glared at her. Katara cocked her head, wondering what she was listening to, but Sokka appeared to be done with the statement because he wrapped his cables back up and threw them on the edge of the stage.

Katara rolled her eyes and left Sokka to it. With any luck, he’d manage to sound check his guitar without breaking anything, though maybe it would be better if he didn’t; while her brother was a man of many skills, Katara knew that music wasn’t actually one of them.

But they needed a guitarist and here they were. Avatar relied on many things to make their sound; a fantastic prodigy drummer, Katara’s keyboard skills which were, if she did say so herself, pretty great, and of course the most versatile, virtuoso vocalist anyone had ever heard of. Guitar? Not so much.

“Where does this one go?” Aang asked. 

Tapping. Katara didn’t look up. She didn’t want to get involved in the drum placement.

The tapping stopped. “Right here,” Toph said.

Katara clambered up onto the stage and opened the keyboard case. She set up the stand, slightly right of center stage, then hefted the keyboard up on top of it.

“Oh, Katara, do you need some help with that?” Aang popped up, grinning. Toph was sitting behind her kit, checking her drums quietly. The drumsticks rattled against the rims.

Katara slid her eyes over to Aang and smiled. His face glowed, smile pulling his cheeks up into round curves. Katara smiled back almost without meaning to. Aang had that effect on her, and always had. His child-like sweetness was infective.

“Katara?” Aang’s eyebrows drew together.

“Oh, um, no. Thanks anyway, Aang.” Katara shook her head. “I’ve got it.”

“Are you sure?” Aang took a step towards her, shrugging his sweatshirt hood up on his shoulders, a nervous, awkward gesture.

“No, I’m fine.” Katara spread her hands over her keyboard protectivly. “Why don’t you do the mic check?”

“Oh, yeah.” Shoulders drooping, Aang turned back to the mic and waved a hand at the sound engineer. “Is this on?” he asked.

The engineer waved back and offered a thumbs up, though she didn’t bother to look up.

Katara plugged everything in as Aang made clicking sounds into the mic. As soon as she finished, she stepped down off the stage and slipped back into the green room. Hard boxes for some of Toph’s drums and Sokka’s spare amp sat near the door, with Katara’s heels on top of them. She grinned and headed for them.

Flopping on the sagging couch, she kicked off her flats and zipped her boots up the side, flexing her ankles. She leaned her head back onto the couch back, crushing her curls, the stray friz scratching at her cheeks. 

This show had to go well. If not, all the work for this album, months of crowdfunding, years of work, and more than a few hungry nights...all of it would be for nothing.

She couldn’t let them screw this up.

* * *

The bartender handed Zuko a pale golden beer in a glass that had grown cloudy with many uses. She winked at him and he looked away. He’d been sitting half turned on the barstool so he could see the stage, which meant the bartender hadn’t seen much of his scar. That was the only reason she was giving him the time of day.

Music played over the speakers, lighter than Zuko’s taste—power pop, mostly, with a smattering of new wave. Which he hadn’t thought would be Toph’s taste, but then again, this wasn’t just Toph. It was Avatar.

Avatar. Hell. He couldn’t believe he’d just happened to run across the drummer from the band that his father hated the most, out of any of the local up-and-comers. Avatar was by far the best of the new crop; able to move flawlessly between genres, with a singer like no other. He’d never seen them live, only heard some demos. Dad had wanted to sign them, knowing that someone else would snatch them up as soon as their sphere of influence grew, but they’d said no. Actually said no to what could have been millions of dollars.

They wanted to maintain their independence, they’d said.

Dad had freaked out. Totally blown his top, yelling, screaming, the whole bit. Not in front of the band, of course, but as soon as he’d hung up the phone. He’d thrown a lamp through his window. It was awkward.

“Zuko!” someone screeched.

Zuko whirled, sinking down into his shoulders. For a second, fear pooled in his belly, but then he saw Tai Lee waving across the crowd. Her braid bounced behind her, face full and glowing, as usual. Behind her, dressed mostly in black, eyes hooded and heavily lined, was Mai. Glaring.

Great.

Tai Lee bounced across the room and threw her arms around Zuko. “Oh my gosh, I haven’t seen you in so long! I missed you so much. The band isn’t the same without you.” Her small mouth pursed into a tiny bud. “But don’t tell Azula I said that.”

“Don’t let her catch you talking to me,” Zuko growled.

Tai Lee waved a hand. “No, don’t worry, she’s not here. Just us.” Tai Lee threw an arm around Mai’s shoulders, drawing her forward. Their mismatched heights—Tai Lee barely over five feet, Mai almost head and shoulders taller—was mirrored only by their completely different facial expressions; joy and apathetic displeasure.

“Hey, Mai,” Zuko said, though it came out a little strangled.

Mai looked away, nose in the air.

Not that Zuko had expected anything different from her. Even though  _ she’d _ broken up with  _ him _ it was still all his fault. Leave the band, leave the girlfriend. That was how loyalty worked for his father.

“Did you come to see Avatar?” asked Tai Lee.

“Yeah.” Zuko ducked his head, letting his hair fall over his scarred face. “What are you doing here?”

Unspoken between them drifted the information that Ozai wouldn’t approve.

“Azula sent us,” said Mai, pushing her hair over her shoulder with one skinny hand. 

That figured. 

Tai Lee nudged Mai in the ribs. “And we wanted to see them, Mai, come on. We’ve never gotten to. Maybe we can convince them to come sign a contract, right?” She clapped her hands. “How great would that be?”

Zuko and Mai snorted in unison. Mai huffed and threw her head back, black lipstick glinting in the low green light of the bar. Zuko rolled his eyes. What was her problem? Why was she so...this way?

“Hey!” Someone pressed close, a man Zuko had never seen before. “Hey, wait, aren’t you Burn Bitches?” His gaze flicked to Zuko. “Whoa, aren’t you Ozai’s kid?”

“Fuck off,” Zuko said.

“Whoa dude, no big deal, just answer the question.”

“He told you to fuck off,” Mai said.

A twitch of a smile flickered in the corner of Zuko’s mouth, pulling at the skin of his scar. Maybe Mai wasn’t as far away from his side of things as he’d thought. But she still wouldn’t meet his eye, keeping her face turned away from him, head cocked just a little.

The dude grumbled something and backed away, keeping Mai in his sights. He disappeared into the crowd and Tai Lee laughed, the sound high and carrying above the babble of the crowd.

“Thank you,” he said to Mai, though the words grated at his throat like sandpaper. 

“Whatever.” Mai turned on her heel and strode off, her boots clacking on the concrete floor. With an apologetic smile, Tai Lee followed after her.

Zuko sighed. His time in Burn Bitches was clearly over. Bending his head over his beer, he wondered if this night could get any worse.


	3. Chapter 3

Katara faded into the back of the crowd as the opener—-two bearded hipsters with a guitar and a tambourine, bless them—-came onstage. Sokka liked to mingle with the audience before the show, but Katara prefered to hide in the Green Room, when that was possible. She was all prepared to do that here too, but then she’d watched a cockroach scuttle out from under the couch right between her feet and that was the end of it.

She slipped up to the bar and ordered a Cape Cod, hoping the vodka would be enough to cancel out any unpleasant bacteria that might be lurking in the cranberry juice. Someday they’d get to stop playing at dive bars, but that wasn’t going to be any time soon.

Toph slipped up next to her, tapping Katara’s ankled with the end of the white cane. “Hey, do you see a guy that seems like he walks kind of hard? Maybe on his heels a lot? Kind of straight up and down?”

Katara rolled her eyes, glad Toph couldn’t see. It wasn’t the first time Toph had tried to find someone she’d spoken to, but her descriptions were always...difficult to decipher. Toph “saw” the world very differently.

Katara gave a cursory glance around the bar, looking for anyone who looked like he might “walk kind of hard” but wasn’t sure what she was looking for. The crowd had all turned towards the stage anyway, and the hipster band’s sound was iffy so it was hard to even hear Toph right next to her.

“I dunno, Toph,” Katara said, leaning close to Toph’s ear. “Why, did you meet someone nice? Is it a date?”

Toph snorted. “No. Get me a drink.”

“What, like Shirley Temple? Come on, Toph, you know you’re underage.”

Toph’s already round cheeks puffed out in annoyance. “God, I hate how much of a goody two shoes you are.” She turned her sightless face towards the stage. Her nose wrinkled. “They’re  _ really _ boring.”

Katara cracked a grin. “Be nice.”

“Why bother, if they’re not even going to try to sound good?”

Shaking her head, Katara took another glance up and down the bar, looking for Toph’s “hard walker”. No one nearby caught her eye, except for dark haired man half turned away from them, one leather jacket clad arm resting on the bar. Katara didn’t recognize him. Not that she knew everyone at the club, but he seemed a little more hardcore than she expected for an Avatar show, especially one opened by a beardy hipster duo. Most of their fans didn’t have metal studs on the backs of their jackets.

Katara sucked down about a third of the Cape Cod as soon as the bartender put it in front of her. The tang of the cranberry juice did very little to lessen the cheap vodka burn. She peered over the rim of the plastic cup at Toph. “So who’s this guy?”

Toph shrugged. “Musician.” But her voice was too light. Katara narrowed her eyes. Toph was lying...or maybe she just wasn’t telling the whole truth; that was more her style.

Toph leaned over and, with unerring percisicion, sucked a long sip out of Katara’s straw. “Shitty vodka,” she said, and tapped her way towards the stage as though she was gonna throw the hipsters off herself.

Katara rolled her eyes and pulled the cocktail closer to her. Twenty minutes until they went on stage and it couldn’t go by fast enough.

* * *

The duo with the guitars finally played their last song and Zuko breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t that he didn’t like...no, who was he kidding, he didn’t like it. Around the end of their set, he caught sight of Toph near the front of the crowd, arms folded around her cane. He was just about to head up to say hello to her when the song ended and she started heckling the wavering singer.

Zuko closed his eyes, a laugh bubbling up through his sinuses. He sat back down. She was  _ clearly  _ busy.

But then, with the help of her tapping cane, she clambered up onto the stage, shoved past the hipsters and plopped herself behind the drums like she owned the place. Zuko smiled. Watching Toph was something of a joy. He wished he had the kind of confidence she exuded just by existing. But no, he had to second guess everything he did all the time.

He sighed. Hello existential angst, his old friend.

Toph tapped the pedal for the bass drum once, tongue between her teeth. The dead air over the speakers was replaced by more pre recorded music. A man with a ponytail and heavy stubble climbed the stairs to the stage, waving his arms at Toph, but she ignored him.

Shaking his head, Zuko turned back to the bartender and held up his empty beer glass, tapping his fingers on the wood before him as he waited. There were a lot more people here now and he shifted in his seat, grateful he’d gotten here early enough to get one. Sure, he could have done the cool punker lean against one of the rooms support columns, but his feet would thank him for not spending the whole show standing.

He put his chin in his hand, waiting for his refill, running a finger around the rim of the empty glass.

“Check, check,” echoed a nervous tenor over the heads of the crowd. Zuko turned and looked over his shoulder. The skinny boy at the microphone held his hands in front of him, leaning forward and tangling his fingers in the hem of his t-shirt. His dark hair was cut so short light reflected off the scalp below, highlighting the patchy blue-gray birthmark stretching down the middle of his head onto his forehead, almost like an arrow.

“Is that good?” he asked the back of the house, where the sound engineer presumably sat. His eyebrows creased. “Again? Okay.” He licked his lips. “Check, check, one, two, two—-”

Zuko was peripherally aware of the rest of the band coming on stage but the bartender thrust his beer at him and he took it, putting a ten down on the counter.

“Good, okay,” said the boy at the mic, and then Toph clicked her tongue and launched into the song.

Zuko almost dropped his beer.

It was, at first, the singer that drew his attention. The kid had a voice like a female Italian opera singer. Countertenor, Zuko remembered. That’s what they were called. His voice floated high and light over the music, tinged with a deep melancholy. Conversations petered out. And yet, he didn’t do it like an opera singer at all, but like a rockstar.

Then his voice dipped and scaled down to a tenor range. People applauded. Zuko shook his head, whistling into his beer. The kid had impressive range, immaculate control. He’d never heard anything quite like this. 

And the band was good too. Sort of a mix of… well maybe a little bit of everything. Zuko tried to pick out little bits, but Toph’s metal drumming, the kid’s operatic vocals, and the poppy keyboardist, who was way better than he’d thought any keyboardist could be, all blended into something bright and fun, but with a sharp, hard edge that Zuko liked.

The guitarist, the only member of the band who wasn’t remarkably gifted, was the boy with the ponytail. He kept his head down, half turned away from the crowd as though uncomfortable being looked at. His legs were hidden behind his amp.

But the guitarist’s stage fright was made up for by the keyboardist, who Zuko kept glancing at as he tried to concentrate on the singer. Her dark curls caught the light, shining blue and white as her fingers fluttered across the keys. She was built somewhat pear-shaped, with wide hips and delicate shoulders. She, and the guitarist too, had the brown skin, blue eyes, and round faces that marked them as southerners. 

Her skills were impressive.

Zuko leaned back against the bar and let the music wash over him. He stopped trying to figure out what to call what he was hearing, and just let himself enjoy it. Through hooded eyes, he spotted Ty Lee swaying back and forth in the middle of the floor. Mai watched from the edge.

Apparently this was the kind of music that everyone enjoyed. Whatever it was.

Zuko didn’t dance, but he did work up to tapping a heel against the bars on the stool’s legs. The brightness and joy of the music was new to him; it wasn’t something his music ever had. It wasn’t even something he was usually drawn to but these kids...they had something inside them, like a light, that made its way out through the music

It made him happy.

Which honestly wasn’t something Zuko had felt in a long time, and so with it came a lot of discomfort. On the one hand, he would have loved to listen to them forever, but on the other, the happiness felt like it didn’t belong to him. 

When their set ended, he clapped a little, mostly patting his hand on his thigh. As soon as the band left the stage, the fans mobbed them. Zuko got up and made his way across the floor, staying slightly away from the bulk of Avatar’s fans. Most of them crowded around the singer, who was one of those touchy-feely types, hugging and shaking hands, happily signing CD copies of their new album.

Like Zuko, Toph stood a little ways away from the crowd, stuffing her drumsticks into a bag. Zuko made his way across the floor towards her, dodging excited and high pitched girls, and reached out, then paused. Should he tap her on the shoulder to get her attention? She’d never hear him unless he was right next to her.

“Toph?” he said.

No answer. She sighed and flipped her hair away from her face.

“Hey, Toph!” called a woman’s voice, loud over the music and the crowd. Zuko turned just a little and was met with a cloud of dark hair as the keyboardist leaned past him and tapped Toph on the shoulder.

Zuko stepped back.

Toph looked up.

The keyboardist shook her head, sending her hair cascading back over her shoulders. Zuko glanced down and noticed the rings and lines tattooed around her arms. He raised an eyebrow. With her lacy jacket and high waisted jeans, he’d expected flower tattoos if anything. 

She shot Zuko a quick glance, then said, “Toph, your straight-up-and-down hard walker is here.”

“Aw, hey, Zuko, you came!” Toph reached for her cane which leaned against a drum box, and took a wild swing with one fist, connecting with Zuko’s forearm. He winced.

“She’s trying to show affection,” the keyboardist said. She kept looking at Zuko through her thick eyelashes. In anyone else it would have seemed flirty, but her mouth pulled into a hard slash and her eyes flickered with nervous energy. Zuko looked away.

“Hey, Toph, you were awesome,” he said, turning his attention to Toph.

“Yeah, it was a pretty good show.” Toph rolled her shoulders back. “Katara, this is Zuko. Zuko, Katara.”

Katara shot him a look out of the corner of her eye, the muscles tightening. “Nice to meet you,” she said, sounding like it was the worst thing she’d had to do all day.

Great. Another woman who didn’t like him.

“So I was thinking that Zuko could be our guitarist,” Toph said as though she’d discussed this with both her band and with Zuko and was just now bringing it up to both parties so they could all agree and go home happy.

“Um…” said Zuko, glancing at Katara.

“What?” She didn’t look back at him. Her eyes, sky blue against the soft brown of her face, narrowed. “Toph,” she said with false sweetness dripping from her words, “can we talk about this?”

“That’s what I’m doing.” Toph leaned back and folded her muscular arms. “We’re talking, right now. He’s good, Katara. I know Sokka’s your brother, but he sucks. Even he knows it. Come on, we need someone to fill that out.” She grinned. “Hell, someone hand that kid a bass and we can have a full rhythm section.”

“You’re really thought this through,” Katara said, still in that sickly sweet voice, still not looking at Zuko.

“It came to me in a flash of inspiration.” Toph grinned. “Come on, Katara. Be a pal.”

“We’ll talk  _ later _ ,” Katara said.

Zuko ran his hand through his hair. “Uh, you were really good too,” he said to her.

Katara glared at him and flounced away towards their singer.

“Oooh,” said Toph, her blind eyes widening. “Oh, man, Sugar Queen doesn’t like you, does she. That’s what’s going on, isn’t it.” She laughed. “Carry this box for me.”

Rolling his eyes, but smiling despite himself, Zuko complied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the support so far! I'm not totally sure how I imagine Avatar's style, actually...probably somewhere between New Pornographers and Blind Guardian, so something of a spread there. Or however you wanna imagine it honestly.


	4. Chapter 4

Katara waited until Toph had directed the loading of her drums—-mostly by Zuko—-into Appa the van, before stalking over, giving Zuko the most withering look she had in her arsenal, and dragging Toph away.

“What is wrong with you?” Toph tried to pull her arm away, but since Katara kept moving, Toph couldn’t get her feet under her. “Why are you being like this? Christ, Katara,  _ stop _ —-”

Katara did stop, abruptly, in the light spilling from the back of the venue. She pulled Toph around so they faced each other, which was more for Katara’s comfort than Toph’s, obviously.

“Do you know who that  _ is _ ?” hissed Katara, peering over Toph’s shoulder. Zuko leaned against the side of the van, his mouth twisted into a pale knot. Who was he, to think he could walk into  _ their _ show, talk to  _ their _ drummer? That they’d just forgive him for the things that had happened?

“What’s your problem?” Toph yanked her arm away from Katara, steadying herself with long practice. “He’s a nice dude.”

“That’s _ Ozai’s kid _ ,” Katara said, louder than she’d meant to. She waved her hand towards Zuko. He definitely knew they were talking about him now; his dark eyebrow drew down towards his eye and he peered at the two of them across the parking lot. Where was Sokka when she needed him? Nothing distracted someone new like Sokka’s awful jokes.

Toph blinked and cocked her head. “That record exec who was such an asshat to Aang when you guys turned him down?”

Katara rolled her eyes. “Yes, Toph. What other Ozai would I be talking about?”

“Fire Nation Records guy?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.” Toph rolled her shoulders back. “That kind of makes sense. He said he used to be in Burn Bitches, before he got kicked out.”

“And you thought it was a good idea to let him come to our show?” Katara stomped a foot and groaned. “Toph, how could you be so stupid?”

Toph huffed, her mouth turning down. “I’m not being stupid, Katara. You’re being an ass. Anyone can come to our shows if they’ve got ten bucks for the cover. Besides, did you  _ not _ hear me? I said he got kicked out of Burn Bitches. Isn’t Ozai’s daughter the singer?”

Katara bit her lip. “Yeah, but—-”

“But nothing.” Toph hacked and spit on the ground, a wet patch shining in the cold street light glow. “His own sister and dad kicked him out of their pet band and you’re mad at him for that? What, because you think he’s some kind of spy? Does he look like a spy to you?”

Katara glanced up. Yup, there it was. Sokka had cornered Zuko against the side of the van, grinning and standing just a little too close. Sokka really loved that pissing contest bullshit. Zuko had taken an odd approach, folding his arms and cocking his head to one side as though waiting for Sokka to hit him, just so Zuko could hit back harder.

Sure, maybe he didn’t  _ look _ like much, but…

Katara returned her attention to Toph and, honey dripping from her voice, said, “I dunno, Toph, what do  _ you _ think he looks like?”

“Low blow, asshole,” Toph said.

Katara sighed. “I’m sorry, I just don’t like having someone whose family hates us so close. With all the publicity Aang’s been getting by talking about free music and independant records, I don’t like the son of a record executive—-especially one that threw us out of his office—-hanging around.”

“But he’s  _ cool _ ,” whined Toph, pressing her fingers into her cheeks. “He’s a punker, Katara. He knows the hard stuff. You and Sokka are so poppy and yeah, Aang can do anything, but he’s got that classically trained thing going on that bleeds into everything.” She sighed. “I miss getting to talk to people about music that isn’t cute and happy and fun.”

“What, you want a music friend so you just go and adopt one?”

Toph shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

Katara groaned. “Why do you do stuff like this?”

“I dunno,why not?” Toph grinned. “So I’m gonna go talk to him, bye!” And she took off back across the parking lot at a pretty quick trot given that she had to do so with a cane.

“Goddamn it, Toph!” Katara yelled after her, but Toph didn’t stop. Katara ran her fingers through her hair, catching them against the braids scattered through the curls. Why couldn’t Toph just for once,  _ one time _ , just listen to her and not do the stupid thing Katara was trying to warn her against?

Toph said something and Zuko grinned, a little half-smile, just one side of his face. The side without the scar. 

The scar was new. Katara had seen photos of Burn Bitches and Ozai’s children. The photo in the Pitchfork article on them had no scar. Zuko’s face hadn’t been so thin or drawn either. That sullen glower he’d had while talking to Sokka seemed the same, but it had darkened since that article, hardened into a mask.

Pity welled in Katara’s chest, but she tamped it down. Scar or no, he was still Ozai’s son.

She wondered if Aang knew.

Not wanting to let Toph agree to anything Zuko said, Katara stomped across the parking lot, her shoes crunching on the gravel.

“You’d be great though,” Toph was saying. “We need a punk edge to the band anyway so we can just blend you right in. Aang’s good at that. He’s got an ear for that stuff, even though he’s a little pain in the butt shit stain.” She grinned. “Katara, where  _ is _ Twinkle Toes?”

“I’m not sure, Toph, why don’t you go find him?”

“Yeah, because the blind girl is exactly the person who should go on a scavenger hunt.” Toph sighed. “Maybe he’s got the rest of my drums. If he drops them, I’ll beat the shit out of him.”

And with that, she was gone, trotting back into the venue and leaving Katara stranded with Zuko.

“She talks a lot,” Zuko said quietly, amusement filtering through the gruffness.

“All the time, yes.” Katara rested her fingers on her hips, scowling at him. “What are you really doing here?”

He tossed back his dark hair, meeting her scowl with his own. “What’s your problem with me? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Do you know what your dad did to us?”

Zuko’s good eye narrowed almost imperceptibly. “He doesn’t like you very much.”

Katara snorted. “That’s putting it mildly. When Aang turned him down for that contract, he tried to blacklist us. We can’t play anywhere in this town where he promotes or donates. He’s trying to run us out just because we won’t do what he wants.”

“You seem to be doing okay,” Zuko said. “The Dragon’s Roost was packed.”

“But we should be doing better.” Katara shook her head. “We had to beg, borrow, and steal to get this record made. It almost fell apart like twenty times. People kept pulling out. We just want our independance, want to be our own band with our own rules. And your dad is being  _ awful _ .”

“Well, I’m not my damn dad, okay?” Zuko’s honey gold eyes flashed with real anger. His mouth twisted into a snarl showing more than its fair share of teeth. “You don’t know me.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Katara stuck her nose in the air. “I don’t know you. And I don’t  _ want _ to know you, okay? Stay away from me and my friends.”

“Seems like your friends are pretty okay with me hanging around.” Zuko folded his arms and leaned back against the side of the van. Even with her heeled boots, Katara wasn’t quite as tall as Zuko, but their eyes were level enough that she could glare at him without feeling ineffectual. Red heat burned in his one good cheek.

“Toph wants a pet,” Katara said and was gratified to see the sting register in the tilt of his mouth.

“I’m not a pet,” Zuko growled. “She treats me like a person. Don’t twist this.”

Katara stomped in frustration. A few rocks somersaulted out from under her boot and smacked against Zuko’s Doc Martins. 

“You’re spying on us for your dad,” Katara insisted, shoving her finger against Zuko’s chest, twisting the front of his Buzzcock’s t-shirt. “Don’t mess with my friends. Maybe you’ve got Toph fooled, but I’m not interested in whatever bullshit you’re selling.” She pursed her lips. “The price is too high.”

“I don’t…” Zuko broke off and shook his head. “Don’t worry, the only person higher on my dad’s shit list than Avatar is me.”

That gave Katara a quick second of pause, but no, he was probably lying. She ignored the tremble in his jaw and shook her head. “I don’t believe you.”

“Fine.” Zuko stood up, pushing off the side of the van. When he’d sunk back into himself, she could let herself think she was intimidating him, but now, when he was just a little too close, in a little too much of her space, she wasn’t sure she’d actually made a dent in him.

“Get out of my way,” Zuko said.

Katara clenched her jaw until her teeth hurt and stepped out of his way. Zuko slouched past her, stopped for a second to talk to Toph as she emerged from the back door into the low parking lot light, and vanished into the darkness like a bad dream.

Except Katara knew, just  _ knew _ , she hadn’t seen the last of him.

Huffing in annoyance, Katara clambered into the passenger seat of Appa the van, and drew her knees up to her chest, staring out into the night. All she wanted was sleep and a shower. Then she could figure out how to tell Aang about this without worrying him.

This was supposed to be  _ their _ night. And Ozai’s kid just  _ had _ to ruin it for them. 

Well screw him.


	5. Chapter 5

Zuko’s phone buzzed at eight o’clock in the morning, waking him from a light sleep. He groaned and rolled over, glaring at his milk crate bedside table. He had managed to pull of his jeans and boots before falling into bed, but that had been it. Papery dryness coated his tongue. Helping Avatar pack up their stuff had extended his night further than expected. 

He snagged the phone off the table, pulling the plug from the wall as he did. Groaning, Zuko fumbled with it for a second, then gave up and lay back against the pillow, holding the phone over his head. There were a couple of messages from his uncle reminding him to get more flour on the way in to work, and there at the top, a text from Toph.

_ Yo, you wanna get coffee in a not-a-come-on way? _

Zuko snorted.  _ I didn’t think you would be able to text _ , he sent back.

Groaning, he rolled over and swung his legs out of bed. His alarm would go off in about ten minutes anyway and he wanted to get a shower before work. Also if Uncle Iroh needed flour, that would add some time to his almost miniscule commute. 

The phone buzzed and he glanced at the screen.  _ We’re living in the age of technology _ , Toph had written.  _ Do you want coffee or not? _

_ I have to go to work, _ he typed.  _ But you can get coffee there if you want. I work at the Jasmine Dragon on Main St. _

He put the phone down, went into the bathroom with its cracked tile floor, turned on the water and stepped into the shower without bothering to let the water warm up. Not that he was really a cold shower type, but he didn’t have a lot of time. He tossed some shampoo through his hair to get rid of the smell of cigarette smoke from the gig last night and, still yawning, got out before the water was more than lukewarm. A quick glance in the mirror told him he needed to shave but he didn’t bother.

When he got back to his bedroom to dress, Toph had replied to his text, just one word.

_ Bitchin’. _

Grinning, Zuko dressed and went down the back stairs from the apartment to the alley behind the building. Sunlight wandered down between the two buildings to light the asphalt in streaks and splashes. Zuko turned out to Main Street, stopped at the corner market to buy some flour from Mrs. Yan who always asked him if he had a girlfriend yet—“Not anymore, Mrs. Yan, but it’s for the best”—and headed in through the front door of the Jasmine Dragon just in time for his uncle to put a hot teapot into Zuko’s bare hands.

“There you are,” Iroh said, patting down his apron. “I thought you had slept late again.”

“Sorry, Uncle.” Zuko winced but his hands were so accustomed to the heat that he barely felt it. “I got your flour.”

“Oh, wonderful!” Iroh took the flour from Zuko’s wrist and tottered off into the back, humming along to the music playing over the cafe’s small speakers. Though how one hummed to Ian Curtis, only Iroh knew.

Zuko shook his head and followed his uncle towards the cafe’s kitchen, holding the hot teapot cradled in his hands. The shop officially opened at nine o’clock sharp, ten minutes from now, but Iroh had already been baking and brewing for hours. Sighing, Zuko deposited the teapot on a warmer by the counter and grabbed his own apron off a peg near the kitchen door. 

“Put these in the case.” Iroh appeared again with a plate of delicate cookies dusted in powdered sugar. “I am very late in all the baking so you will have to fill most of the orders this morning. But I know you can do it, Zuko.”

“Yeah, uh...thanks.” Zuko rolled his eyes. He’d been working with his uncle since he was twelve. Of course, then it had only been a few things here and there, just helping around the place and getting underfoot. But that was back before a would-be robber had shot Zuko’s cousin Lu Ten outside the cafe.

Now Zuko got to fill that role instead.

Throat tight at the thought of his smiling cousin, Zuko shook himself all over and took the tray of cookies from Iroh, carefully depositing them in a glass case facing the door where they could be easily seen upon entry. That done, he flipped the sign on the door to open and stepped back behind the counter.

He didn’t have to wait long; the first wave of regulars shuffled in the door only a moment after he’d unlocked it. Most of the orders he knew by heart at this time of morning. He made somewhat polite conversation with chatty Mr. Tising about his roses and kept looking at the door for Toph.

She came in at 9:45 and paused by the door, her head wavering back and forth like a dog searching for the right sound. Zuko handed Mr. Tising his coffee and excused himself, striding over to greet her. “Hey,” he said from three feet away, then added, “Uh, it’s Zuko.”

Toph’s lip curled. “I know who you are. Get me a seat where I can talk to you.” She stuck out a hand, palm down.

Gingerly, Zuko took the hand and led her over to the counter seat that Iroh sometimes used late in the day. It was close enough to all of Zuko’s pots and brewers that he could work while talking to her. “What’ll you have?”

“Black coffee.”

Zuko made a face. “How can you drink that?”

“What, do you have some kind of froofy drink?” Toph grinned, her mouth a lopsided slash.

“I just put sugar in it, like a civilized human being.” But he put on the coffee for her, brewing it dark and thick. Iroh would have a heart attack if he saw this.

Toph blew a raspberry. 

Zuko turned away and took three more orders, putting them on and pouring a single serving pot of Gunpowder Green into a paper cup.

“Did Katara bite your head off last night?” Toph asked.

Zuko scowled, glad Toph couldn’t see. “No,” he said, voice tight. “It was fine. She was fine.”

“She did, didn’t she.”

Sighing, Zuko dropped the pretense. “Yeah, she went off. What...I don’t understand what I did to make her hate me that much. Sure, I get that she doesn’t like my father but she does understand that I’m not him? That he kicked me out of my own band?”

“No, she doesn’t.” Toph shook her head. “Katara likes to see the world in black and white. You’re either with her one hundred percent or you’re against her and will be crushed. She really hates your dad, so she hates you.”

“But I’m not—-”

“Not your dad, yeah, I know, you’ve said it like fifty times.” Toph waved a hand. “But you’re still associated with him in Katara’s head. He really hurt them, you know.”

Zuko’s hand drifted up to his scar and he forced himself to pull his fingers away and pour Toph’s coffee instead. “He does that,” he growled, pushing the coffee towards her.

Toph’s mouth twisted, but she didn’t ask. With a jarring shock, Zuko realized that since she couldn’t see the scar, she would never wonder why it was there or what had happened to him. It was...refreshing in a way.

“So like, not the best dad, huh?” Toph shook her head. “I feel that. But worse than being mean to Katara, your dad was mean to Aang. Like, that’s the worst sin in Katara’s book. Can’t get any more evil than hurting poor widdle Aang’s baby feelings.”

Zuko blinked. “Your singer, right?” The kid had been the only one he hadn’t talked to the night before, but he’d wanted to.

“Yeah, pain in the ass but good at what he does.” Toph shrugged. “Real good. Nice kid too.”

“Are he and Katara an item?” Zuko asked.

“Depends on who you ask,” Toph said wryly and sipped her coffee. “According to him, yeah. According to everyone else, not so much.”

“Oh.” Zuko bit his lip, then forced himself to ask. “What happened between them and my father?”

Toph put the coffee back down. “Oh. That. Yeah, well, your dad wanted to sign us, you know, because we were kind of taking off at the time, but Aang isn’t down with that. Signing to anyone, really. He’s got this whole independant record thing going on, which is cool, I’m not hating on it. I like that he wants to go his own way with it. But like, your dad took it totally personally. Kept calling Aang and going off on him. Blacklisted us from some of the bigger venues. Got one of our sound engineers to quit in the middle of the record. Just really petty stuff, but exactly the kind of thing that gets right up under Katara’s skin.”

“Sounds like Dad,” Zuko said with a sigh.

“Real winner, huh?”

Before Zuko could answer, Iroh bustled right past him and leaned over the counter. “Hello, my dear, hello,” he said, smiling at Toph. His eyes flicked to her cane, then her milky eyes, and he withdrew the hand he’d half extended in Toph’s direction.

To her credit, Toph didn’t flinch at the new voice. She just rolled her head towards him, and smiled back.

“Toph, my uncle Iroh, the owner of this fine establishment,” Zuko said, deadpan. “Uncle, this is Toph. She’s…”

What was he supposed to say? His friend? It seemed early for that. But should he say she was in Avatar? Iroh’s loyalty to Zuko’s father was minimal at best, but he wasn’t sure what his uncle would think of him talking to Toph.

“I’m his new best friend,” Toph said. “I made him come see my band and now we’re BFFs.”

Iroh laughed, deep and rumbling up from his gut. “It is very good to meet you, Miss Toph. My nephew needs some friends.”

“Uncle!” Zuko protested.

Toph laughed too, which gave Zuko a sinking feeling like these were two people he should never have introduced to one another; they clearly thought too much alike.

“You are in a band?” Iroh asked. “I used to be in a band.” He sighed wistfully. “A long time ago.”

“Oh yeah?” Toph said, her voice gaining a nasal edge of polite disinterest. “What band was that?”

Iroh waved a hand. “Oh, nothing special. Just a little band called the Dragons of the West.”

“Are you  _ shitting _ me right now?” Toph slapped her hands down onto the countertop, almost upsetting her coffee. “You’re  _ that _ Iroh? You’re  _ awesome _ ! Man, I couldn’t believe it when you guys broke up. That sucked so hard. Holy shit, I can’t believe you’re Zuko’s uncle, that’s  _ so cool _ !”

“She’s a fan,” muttered Zuko.

“She has good taste.” Iroh smiled beatifically at Toph. “It is good that you and my nephew are friends, Miss Toph. His taste is sadly lacking.”

“Thanks,” Zuko said. “I’ll just stand here like an asshole while you insult me.”

“I would ask for your autograph, but it would mean nothing to me.” Toph waved a hand in front of her face, shrugging. “But you have to tell me stories. What was it like in the Dragons?”

Iroh shrugged. “Oh, no, it was very boring. Just work.”

Zuko snorted. From what he’d heard from his dad, the Dragons of the West had been the kind of old school punk band that trashed hotel rooms and went through cocaine by the pound. Iroh, however, liked to pretend Zuko’s poor mind needed protecting from the realities of his family’s business.

“Bullshit,” said Toph, obviously agreeing with Zuko on this point, but she was still grinning like a child. “Zuko, why didn’t you tell me?

“I assumed you knew,” Zuko said, raising an eyebrow. “What with your whole beef with my dad.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot he was in Dragons.” Toph scrunched up her nose. “This makes a lot more sense now.”

Iroh looked from Toph to Zuko. “Ah, you do not like my brother?”

“Toph is in Avatar,” Zuko explained.

“Ah.” Iroh’s eyes lit up. “Avatar. I have heard your music. You are very,  _ very _ good. It is no wonder Ozai is so frustrated by not being able to keep your talents to yourself, but I understand. Sometimes it is better to be wild and free than protected and safe. If the cat owl cannot spread its wings, its song will not be as sweet.”

Toph blinked. “Uh, sure.” She turned to Zuko. “Anyway, I talked the gang into going to a big Kyoshi show this weekend. You should come.”

“I think Katara hates my guts, so—” Zuko started.

“He would love to go,” said Iroh, digging his elbow into Zuko’s ribs. “I will give you the day off, nephew. Go enjoy yourself.”

“Uh, okay.” Zuko looked from Iroh to Toph and then back. Iroh winked.

Zuko’s stomach dropped. He had a bad feeling about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is turning out to be longer than anticipated.
> 
> The Jasmine Dragon is based almost entirely on a coffee shop in my town colloquially known as "Headbanger Cafe" because one of the dudes who works there wears KISS shirts and listens to Misfits at 7 o'clock in the morning. But with post-punk instead, because Iroh seems like an artsy type at heart.
> 
> Speaking of post-punk, Dragons of the West and also Iroh's role comes in its entirety from New Order and Peter Hook because I'm currently Hooky's book Substance. Which I recommended if either you want to know how I imagine Ozai and Iroh on tour, or if you want to laugh at a lot of weird Manchester sayings (and yes, in this analogy, Iroh is Hooky and Ozai is Barney because I'm pretty sure that's just how it was in the show).


	6. Chapter 6

“I just have a bad feeling about him,” Katara said, adjusting her sunglasses. The sun shone down on them in the the outdoor seating of Aang’s favorite vegetarian gourmet cafe. Katara had taken the seat with her back to the windows of the restaurant behind him, allowing Aang to sit on the street side. If she let sit so he could watch the passersby, he’d try to talk to all of them. Cutting him off was the only way to get him to focus on lunch, not on chatting up strangers.

Aang cocked her head to the side, eyebrows crinkling up. “Come on, Katara, you can’t not trust Zuko already. That’s unfair. You don’t even know the guy.”

“I know he’s Ozai’s son,” Katara said. She moved a piece of arugula from one side of her plate to the other. Raspberry vinaigrette stained the leaves like pale blood. Katara shook herself and forced her gritted teeth apart; the pressure gave her a headache.

Rolling his shoulders back, Aang pressed his mouth into a thin line. “That’s true, but I dunno if we should…” He trailed off and shook his head. The sun shone on his freshly buzzed scalp and winked off the corner of his sunglasses.

“Did you forget what a jerk Ozai’s been?” Katara said. “Aang. Come on.”  
Aang stuck out his lower lip. “I just don’t want to make up my mind about someone I don’t even know. I mean, Toph likes him so he can’t be _all_ bad.”

“Toph keeps getting  _ arrested _ ,” Katara pointed out, though it had only been twice and there hadn’t been any charges filed. “I don’t think we can trust her judgement.”

A smile twitched at the corner of Aang’s wide mouth.  “I suppose you have a point there.”

Some of the tension in Katara’s chest loosened. Aang was naive and trusting. He would give anyone another chance—three more, if Katara didn’t stop him—-and prided himself on his ability to forgive. But Katara knew that the world didn’t just hand out good things to good people. She also knew that people weren’t nice.

Especially anyone related to Ozai.

Aang took a large bite of portabella burger and swallowed without enough chewing. Katara shook his head. Ah, to be nineteen and on top of the world. Or maybe that was just Aang. Would he be like this in ten years?

She took one look at Aang’s pale, guileless eyes and shook her head, as she often did when he was concerned. Aang would be  _ exactly _ like this in ten years. He was going to be one of those people who never really grew up. An old soul, sure...but a young mind.

“But what do you want to do with Zuko?” asked Aang. His head cocked to one side, a slow roll. He shoved his sunglasses up onto his forehead with the heel of one hand and peered at Katara as though looking into her soul.

Katara looked away.

“I don’t know.” She toyed with the salad, then put her fork down on the edge of the plate and steepled her fingers over it. “I don’t think Toph is going to let go of him easily. She wants him to join the band. Be our new guitarist.”

“But we have Sokka,” said Aang. “Why do we need another guitar?”

Katara winced. How come Aang was so much nicer to her own brother than Katara ever was? Maybe it was that he hadn’t had to clean up after Sokka for the last ten years. That soured anyone’s relationship.

“Look, Aang, um…” Katara bit her lip. “I love Sokka, but he’s not...I think he’d be more happy if we just gave him a bass instead.”

“So you think Zuko  _ should _ be in Avatar?” Aang’s forehead wrinkled.

“No!” Katara clenched her teeth against the anger building in her chest and tried to smile. “No, Aang, that’s not what I’m saying. I definitely don’t think we should let someone new into the band right now, especially not someone who we might not be able to trust. I just...look, maybe someday. Maybe we could talk to Sokka about it?”

Aang raised an eyebrow, his lips pursing. The sun glossed over the side of his face, lighting his cheekbones. Behind him, cars whizzed by, blurs of color and light like a physical manifestation of Aang’s whirring thoughts.

“We don’t have to make any decisions now,” Katara said quickly.

“But that still doesn’t give us any idea of how to get this guy to leave Toph alone,” Aang pointed out.

A little thrill ran through Katara’s fingers. This was why she loved Aang so much. He was always on her side, no matter what, through thick and thin. Or maybe he was just really gullible and ready to get on the Katara Crazy Train to Revenge Town whenever it pulled into the station. But she prefered to think it was because he was nice.

Also she was pretty sure that Ozai was the only person Aang actually hated. It wasn’t too much of a stretch for him to be iffy on Zuko too.

Katara sighed. “I’m not sure how we can convince Toph to do  _ anything _ she doesn’t want to. Maybe we just have to wait it out until she gets bored.”

Aang winced, one hand going to the opposite wrist, which he’d once strained after weeks of Toph goading him about being bad at playing the drums—-which he was. “Does Toph get bored?” he asked, clearly thinking of months of small needlings about how he was “terrible with his hands” and “couldn’t find a decent rhythm if his life depended on it.”

That was an unforeseen hiccup in Katara’s plan, but she could work around it. Katara shook her head.

Aang sighed and thoughtfully gobbled down the last few bites of portabella burger. “Are you gonna eat that salad?” he asked, pointing at her leafy plate with his pickle.

“You want it?” Katara pushed the plate towards him.

Without waiting for any more invitation, Aang dragged the plate towards him and stabbed a thick chunk of roasted beet. Katara leaned back, watching as he applied himself to her salad. Even after so many years up here in the warmth, Katara still hated summer, and still couldn’t adapt to the idea of “eating lightly”. Where she was from, there was barely any summer, and everyone ate rich, heavy food all the time to save off the chill.

And here, people ate salads. She’d never get used to it.

Aang finished the salad in record time and checked his phone for the time. “We’ve got an hour before the doors open for this concert,” he said, shoving his phone into his pocket and smiling down a waiter for their check. “You wanna take a walk? We’ll meet Sokka and Toph there I guess.”

“That sounds nice.” Katara smiled up at the waiter who brought their bill and threw twenty dollars down on the table for her half of dinner and tip. Aang added eighteen dollars in fives and ones to the pile and stood up, peering over the little fence between them and the rest of the sidewalk. Katara smoothed down the skirt of her sundress—-the one good thing about living in a warmer climate—-and stepped around the table to walk beside Aang.

At first Aang offered an arm, but Katara nudged him with her shoulder and he dropped it, laughing. Sun beat down on the pavement, warming Katara from the toes up. She readjusted her sunglasses to keep the glare out of her eyes and stretched her arms out wide, throwing her head back to drink in the sun.

“Thought you hated the heat,” Aang said, grinning.

Katara opened one eye. “Yes. I do. But my skin appreciates the freedom sometimes.”

Aang shook his head. “I don’t understand you.” But he was still smiling. 

Katara knocked his elbow with his own and shook her head. Aang turned and crossed the street, leaving Katara to run a couple steps to keep up with him. Once on the sidewalk, the sun was somewhat lessened by the spreading leaves of the old trees lining the edge of the park. Aang slid between them, turning to make sure Katara was following.

“So about the new song,” Aang said as she drew even with him. His eyes lit up.

Katara tuned him out, letting him go on about chord progression and what he was going to with voice modulation. She wasn’t intellectual about her music like Aang was. She felt it when she stood in front of the keyboard. Of course, years of practice honed that feeling into skill, but she still didn’t feel the need to think too deeply about  _ why _ a particular note worked at a particular time.

“When’s the show?” she asked, interrupting.

Aang checked his phone again. “Twenty minutes until doors open.”

“We should head there now.” Katara turned away, but not before she registered the slightly hurt look gracing Aang’s face. Her heart tugged a little and she smiled at him. “I’m sorry, Aang, I know you’re excited. I’m glad you’re excited. I just don’t want to leave Toph and Sokka waiting.”

“Especially Sokka, huh?” Aang raised an eyebrow but followed her turn towards the theater.

“Ugh, yeah.” Katara rolled her eyes and put on a false, high-pitched voice. “Oh, Suki, oh, love me, oh, you’re so cool.”

Aang laughed. Katara laughed too; Sokka’s crush on the Kyoshi guitarist perhaps gave her too easy a target, but hey, an easy target was all Sokka really was.

“Look, there they are.” Aang pointed down the sidewalk and Katara followed his finger to the crowd gathered outside Moon Fish, one of the bigger venues in town. Toph leaned against her cane, half forward, grinning. Sokka was instantly obvious because of his ceaseless hands.

And then beside Toph, as Katara focused, was…

“Damn it,” she muttered, speeding up to outpace Aang. “What’s he doing here?”


	7. Chapter 7

“And  _ then _ ,” Sokka said, waving a hand, “Aang gives him that big wide eyed puppy dog look and says, ‘No, I thought it was free.’” Then, without waiting for anyone else, he burst into near hysterical laughter.

Toph let out a single loud “Ha!” which Zuko would have assumed was fake if he hadn’t already figured out that Toph did nothing fake. 

For his own part, Zuko grinned and dropped his gaze to hide it. 

“Oh man.” Sokka wiped his streaming eyes and leaned against Toph, resting one elbow on her shoulder. “That’s the good stuff, you know? Hilarious.”

“What on  _ earth _ is he doing here?” yelled a woman from behind Zuko. His teeth clenched as he recognized Katara’s voice, despite the strain pitching it up half an octave.

“Aw shit, it’s the fun police,” Toph muttered.

Zuko turned just in time to face a glaring, wild eyed Katara, too close to him for comfort. He stepped back and folded his arms as though that would ward her off. It didn’t. She stepped forward, propping her hands on her hips. Instead of her boho indie pop look from the Avatar gig, she wore a cute sundress and a sweater, a sweetness completely at odds with the rage clouding her features. People around them were moving away, giving them some extra space in the line to get into Moon Fish. The sidewalk stayed crowded, but at least Zuko had room to breathe, and maybe dodge if he needed to.

“Relax, Katara,” Toph said. Unlike Zuko, Toph hadn’t moved an inch. Even Sokka had stepped back, but not Toph. “It’s cool. He’s with me.”

Katara’s boiling rage turned on Toph, but Toph just blinked. Katara’s eye twitched. “Yes, I know he’s with you. I’ll get to that, but first…” She whirled back and leaned close to Zuko, head tilted to one side, curls bouncing. “Why don’t you just beat it?”

“Calm down, Katara.” The singer, Aang, came running up behind Katara. He glared at Zuko, but with nowhere near the venom of Katara, and then turned his attention to her. He put a thin, delicate hand on her shoulder and pulled her back enough to give Zuko some breathing room.

Zuko dug his nails into the leather of his jacket. “Yeah, calm down, Katara.”

“Why you—-” Katara tried to pull away from Aang and for a second it looked like she was going to punch him right in the face. Zuko ducked his head a little.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Aang grabbed her arm and spun her, though he didn't put a lot of pressure into the move; more like a dance than a restraint. “Calm down. Let the man be.”

Despite the glowering, Zuko figured the kid was sort of on his side. Or at least on his side enough to stop Katara from punching him.

Aang put himself between Katara and Zuko, putting his hands on her shoulders and leaning close to her, talking fast. Slowly, Katara’s shoulders relaxed, falling down from around her ears. She took a deep breath, chest rising and falling once—-not that Zuko was really looking, he was just making sure she didn’t punch him again—and then she nodded.

“Don’t bait her,” Sokka hissed to Zuko; apparently Sokka was on his side too. “She goes off a lot and if you just let her be and keep your head down, she’ll latch on to another target instead.”

“You’ve had some practice?” Zuko raised his good eyebrow.

“Yeah, twenty-one years.” Sokka rolled his eyes. “She’s been giving me shit since she came out of the womb. Try not to antagonize her.” He raised one hand to his mouth to hide his words from Katara, or maybe from the other people in line. “She’ll take out innocent bystanders too.”

“Zuko.”

Zuko turned, finding himself face to face with Aang. It was the first time he’d had a moment to look the kid over, and despite having heard him sing, he found it hard to imagine that soaring soprano coming out of this kid’s mouth. Aang was almost painfully skinny, with more elbows than a normal person should have. But his eyes twinkled with a stifled smile, despite his serious face.

Zuko nodded.

Aang stuck out a hand. “We haven’t met properly. I’m—-”

“I know who you are.” Zuko shook the hand, squeezing hard and dropping Aang’s fingers almost right away. “You’re a hell of a singer.”

Pride flashed in Aang’s pale eyes. “Thanks, man. That was cool of you to come see us. Did you like it?”

“Yeah, I did,” Zuko said, sort of against his better judgement. Despite the welcoming face and the bright eyes, Zuko kept an eye on the way Aang’s mouth tightened when he glanced at Zuko’s scar. He was also very aware of Katara, simmering now rather than boiling, glaring at him from behind Aang’s left shoulder.

“Have you seen Kyoshi before?” Aang asked.

Zuko did manage to laugh at that. “Who hasn’t?”

“Oh, you’re a fan too?”

Zuko gave a quick, concise nod. There were few people in town who weren’t fans of the local celebrity band. Everyone loved Kyoshi, which was why there was a line halfway around the block an hour before doors opened. It was a good thing Toph had insisted on getting here early or Zuko never would have gotten in.

“Not as much of a fan as Sokka, I bet,” said Toph, trying to elbow Sokka in the ribs and missing by about two feet.

“Oh shut up,” Sokka said.

Zuko looked from Sokka to Aang, who was snickering. “Sounds like there’s a story there.”

To Zuko’s surprise, it was Katara who spoke up. She pushed past Aang to stand more inside the group rather than lurking on its edges. She shook back her curls and tilted up her chin. “Sokka  _ loves _ Kyoshi,” she said.

Sokka’s mouth turned down. “You know what, you can just stick your whole head up your—-”

“Now, now,” Katara chided. With her hooded eyes and the smile playing at the corner of her mouth, Zuko could see why they might all get along—-before he’d just heard a lot of screeching from her. Protective instinct, he tried to tell himself. Like a mama platypus bear.

Except like the platypus bear, it didn’t matter to him why she was mad when it was him she was coming after.

Katara’s bright eyes flicked to Zuko and for once didn’t narrow in rage. “Back before Kyoshi got really big, we played a battle of the bands with them. Sokka decided that he could  _ totally _ beat a band that was just all girls.”

Having heard Sokka’s guitar playing skills, Zuko snorted.

A smile skittered across one corner of Katara’s mouth and was abruptly squashed. 

“Anyway,” she said, as though pretending the smile had never happened, “they kicked our butts. Because I mean...obviously.” She waved a hand around at the line around them, the chattering crowd bouncing with excitement. Many of them wore t-shirts bearing the Kyoshi name and logo—-stylized eyes surrounded by thick red makeup.

“So Sokka goes up to the guitarist afterwards, right?” Toph took up the narrative, her toothy grin evidence of the glee the story gave her. “To congratulate her, I guess. And he’s all, ‘Okay, you guys are really good’ and she’s just like, fucking deadpan, and goes, ‘Yeah, I know. You don’t need to tell me that.’”

“And his jaw just about hit the floor.” Katara shook her head and patted Sokka’s elbow. “And she just winks, blows him a kiss, and  _ steals his drink _ . And then leaves. Just takes his beer right out of his hand and walks off.”

“And now he’s in love,” Aang said.

“I am  _ not _ ,” Sokka said, though his brown face turned very red. “And you can all just shut the hell up, all right?”

“Absolutely not,” Toph said.

Whatever Sokka opened his mouth to say cut off as a cheer went up at the front of the line. Zuko peered over the heads in front of him. The doors stood open and a guy in a black tshirt with a name tag hanging around his neck stood at the front of the line, head down.

“Oh good, they’re open.” Aang grinned. “Katara, I can take your ticket if you want.”

“I got it, Aang, thanks.” Katara put one hand over her messenger bag, a pretty blue thing lined with beads and tassels. She smiled at Aang, and there wasn’t even a hint of annoyance in her tone, but he dropped his head and fell back from her just a little bit.

Huh. Toph must have been right about Aang’s crush. But it didn’t look like Katara knew about it.

Attention diverted, Sokka and Toph fell in line behind Zuko. For a second, Zuko wondered if he should offer Toph an arm or something equally condescending, but then he spotted her repeatedly poking Sokka in the ankle with her cane and thought better. She could handle herself.

At the door, Aang took a minute to talk to the bouncer—-while getting his conspicuous X hands—-Zuko found himself standing next to Katara. The top of her head came up to the bottom of his nose and he wondered how such a small, round thing managed to produce so much anger. Maybe she’d cool down if he just ignored her.

“I’m watching you, asshole,” Katara said without looking up at him.

Or maybe not.

Rolling his eyes, Zuko handed the bouncer his ticket and ID, received it back with a nod (no X’s for him) and followed after Katara into the lobby. She stopped and leaned against the bar to order a drink, and Zuko slid up next to her to get a beer.

“Get one for Sokka too,” Katara said, turning so she could sling one arm over the bar and stare up at him. Her face hardened into ice. “He’ll drink whatever.”

Zuko caught the bartender’s eye and held up two fingers to adjust his order, than looked down at Katara. With the crowd pushing against their back, he found himself pressed too close to her, his elbow almost brushing her shoulder.

“No, it’s fine.” Katara smiled over Zuko’s shoulder and waved her hand in a shooing motion. “We’ll meet you in there.”

In the crush, Zuko couldn’t turn, but his stomach dropped at being left alone with her.

As expected, she turned back to him, mouth turning down.

“I haven’t done anything yet.” Zuko drew his arms in tight so he didn’t accidently brush against her. “Calm down. I don’t know what kind of crazy plan you think my shitlord dad is up to, but I promise you, I’m the last person he’d enlist for it.”

“What, suddenly you’re not talking to your daddy?” Katara leaned back against the bar, the curve of her neck glowing in the light.

Zuko raised one hand to his scar, then dropped it. “No. I’m not, okay? You may have heard I got kicked out of my own damn band. Which means no sister, no dad, and no record deal.” He glared at her as the bartender returned with two plastic cups full of pale beer. Zuko handed over the money plus tip and took them. “Don’t flatter yourself, Katara. You’re not worth me giving up my whole life and half my face just to get back at.”

Katara huffed and opened her mouth to respond, but the bartender pushed a drink as blue as her eyes into her hands, which distracted her. Zuko waited a half second for her to pay, then pushed his way through the crowd towards the door, hoping she was behind him.

Or not. Not his damn problem.

* * *

 

Katara groaned and bit down on her straw. Following Zuko through the crowd took some attention, but people seemed like they wanted to get out of his way. Tall, broad shouldered dude in a studded leather jacket with a big facial scar? Yeah, if Katara was anyone beside herself, she’d want to get out of his way too. 

This crowd looked a little tougher than the ones that came to Avatar gigs, but Kyoshi was harder than anyone in Katara’s band, except maybe Toph. Trying to keep up with Zuko, Katara shoved past a girl with spider tattoos up and down her arms, and a boy with not one but four rings in his bottom lip. Of course, there were also people in dresses and a girl wearing a pair of striped linen pants straight out of a hippie commune, so it kind of ran the gambit.

Katara forced herself to stop people watching—who was she, Aang?—-and focused on following Zuko’s leather-clad back through the crowd and into the venue itself. The ceiling stretched above her, over a true proscenium stage with old molding around the edges, all painted over in black. The floor beneath her feet held no seats or tables, just one large open stretch of standing people. Katara rolled her shoulders back as she popped out of the bottleneck at the door and trotted after Zuko, who had clearly spotted Sokka’s waving hands before she did.

“Here.” Zuko pushed a beer at Sokka as Katara caught up. “Your sister gave me your order.”

“Thanks, man.” Sokka grinned. Apparently that was all it took to buy Sokka’s affection.

Traitor.

Katara punctured her straw with a tooth and pulled it from her mouth. If she kept worrying it, she’d never manage to get the Blue Lagoon into her stomach. Hopefully the vodka would soften the edge of her annoyance at Zuko’s presence. Though his dark anger, laced with sadness and loss, had forced her to hold her tongue against any other needles she might send his way.

Katara shifted from foot to foot and let the hum of conversation, the recorded music playing over the speakers, and the shuffle of bodies wash over her. She closed her eyes. The feeling of being enmeshed in a crowd sent warm waves through her.

She opened her eyes when the cheering started and turned to look up at the stage. Four women walked out, not quite looking at the crowd. Sokka’s eyes locked on the lean woman who walked with purpose to the green guitar propped next to an amp.

Without looking, Katara shoved her elbow out into Aang’s ribs. “God, he’s an embarrassment.”

“The guitarist, right?” It hadn’t been Aang she’d elbowed, but Zuko. Katara looked up at him. She stood for the first time on the scared side of his face. Green-gold light shone on the whorls and ridges of the scar, glancing off the slit of his eye. He didn’t turn to look at her, just kept his eyes fixed on the stage

Katara clenched her jaw and looked away.

She cleared her throat. Unwilling to let Zuko know she had spoken to him only accidently, she shrugged. “Yeah, that’s Suki.”

“Sokka has good taste,” Zuko rumbled. A grin twisted the corner of his mouth.

Katara rolled her eyes, but before she could say anything to him, Suki slammed off a chord and the music started full force.

Kyoshi played hard, rolling through complex melodies but never losing themselves in it, always bright and fun. They were as danceable as rock could be, but also kept an edge to them that had even Toph nodding her head along with the beat.

Zuko was right about Sokka’s taste; Suki was the real star of the show. She played like her life depended on it, and looked good doing it. Short brown hair fell over her face as she bent over the instrument, fingers flying up and down the neck. She bobbed her whole body into particularly powerful chords, hair flying back to reveal the makeup all of the women wore; white face, bloody eyes, and very dark lips, like a warrior geisha.

Katara hooded her eyes and breathed the music in, letting it wash through her. She peered up at Zuko. That tiny grin had returned to the corner of his mouth and his fingers tapped against his thigh.

Katara found herself grinning in return and quickly ripped the smile from her lips. Her stomach turned over and she slid away from Zuko to stand instead behind Aang—he was a dancer, not a head nodder so he took up a lot of room—-and put his body between her and Zuko. She didn’t want to enjoy watching Zuko be happy.

Instead, she focused her gaze on the stage and let Suki’s incredible melody take her away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kyoshi is The Donnas. Zero changes. It's just straight up the Donnas (the hard rock Stay the Night/Bitchin' sound). Suki is Allison Robertson. Unashamed theft.


	8. Chapter 8

“That was awesome!” Katara yelled over the lingering applause after the encore. “I wish  we had stage presence like that.”

Aang grinned down at her, then looked back at the stage. “You think they’ll come out?”

Katara nodded. “They always come out to talk afterwards. Besides, if they don’t, Sokka will probably cry.” She glanced over at him, stifling her laughter at the rapt expression pressed across Sokka’s features. “Are you okay?”

Sokka shook his head. “She’s... _ so good _ .”

“Okay, lover boy.” Katara patted Sokka’s elbow. “Let’s go see her.”

They fought through the crowd towards the stage door, Sokka holding Toph’s elbow close to his body so she didn’t get lost in the crowd. Aang’s hand bumped against Katara’s and she moved away to give him more room. Zuko trailed after them, a dark shadow tracking Katara’s footsteps...or at least that’s how she felt. Maybe a little overdramatic.

Sokka headed right for Suki. When she turned in their direction and noticed the hand waving, she grinned and waved back. Katara sped up to pass Sokka and reached Suki first. Katara opened her arms. “Hey, girl!”

“Oh man, hi!” Suki stepped forward. “You probably don’t want to hug me, I’m all sweaty.”

“Too bad.” Katara hugged her anyway. True to her word, Suki smelled unpleasantly of heavy sweat and the grease of her makeup. Much of that makeup had been wiped off, but the white clung to her jaw bone and eyebrows. Katara grinned. “Great show.”

“Thanks!” Suki drew back, pausing to look over Katara’s arm. “You brought your brother, huh?”

Katara rolled her eyes. “Like he would stay away.”

She stepped out of the way to let Sokka take her place, stumbling through compliments—-“You guys are super awesome...it was nice to see...you look…”—and leaned back on her heels. Aang stood a ways away, talking to the Kyoshi singer Rea. Toph stayed with Sokka, grinning in the way only an intentional third wheel could.

“I didn’t know you were friends with her,” Zuko said. His voice held a warmth Katara hadn’t heard yet. When she glanced up at his face, easier to see now that there were at least some house lights up, his eyes were fixed on Suki and Sokka, the corner of his mouth pulled out into that little half smile.

“I like her.” Katara shrugged. “She’s tough like Toph, but not so…”

“Not so much of a bro?” Zuko raised an eyebrow. “A friend who’s got a little more femme to Toph?”

Katara folded her arms. “If you’re not here to spy on us, what are you here for?”

Zuko sighed, raising one hand to his temple. “Has it occurred to you that maybe I don’t have any friends at all?” he growled.

Katara bit her lip. “Oh.”

“Not to start a pity party or anything.” Zuko rolled his shoulders back. “I also like your band. You guys have a good sound. Sue me.”

“Oh,” Katara said again, unsure of how she was supposed to respond. Was Zuko baring his soul to her or telling her to piss off? She wasn’t sure what the implication was.

Thankfully Suki came to her rescue by yelling Katara’s name and beckoning her over. “Bring your friend!” Suki called.

“I’m not your friend,” Zuko said, but quietly enough that only Katara could hear.

Katara didn’t bother to say anything, just rolled her eyes and went over to Suki. Sokka had stumbled over enough words that he had settled into silence, brown cheeks slightly puffed out in thought. 

Suki pulled Katara in towards her, draping an arm around Katara’s shoulders. Suki jerked her chin at Zuko. “Who’s this?”

Katara sighed. “Zuko, this is Suki. Suki, Zuko. He’s...Toph’s friend.”

“Toph has friends?” Suki reached out and punched Toph in the arm, lightly.

“He plays guitar,” said Toph, rocking back and forth with the small force of Suki’s punch. “I want him to be in Avatar.”

“I play guitar,” Sokka pointed out, smacking both hands into his chest.

“But you  _ could _ play bass instead,” Toph said, somehow making it clear that she thought Sokka sucked at the guitar. Not that Toph, of all people, had ever been shy about that. But then her eyes lit up. “Think of it, Sokka. An  _ actual _ rhythm section. Think of what you and I could do.”

Sokka narrowed his eyes, a look Katara recognized as trying to figure out if he’d been insulted or not. He glanced at Zuko. “How do we know he’s good though?”

“Whoa, wait.” Katara leaned back into Suki’s arm. “This may not be a good idea—”

Suki’s eye flicked from Zuko to Katara and she leaned in closer, turning her head so only Katara could hear. “You don’t like him, huh?”

“He’s Ozai’s son.”

Suki’s eyebrows rose high enough to disappear into her hairline. She glanced at Zuko again, narrowing her storm blue eyes, and reassessed him, then shook her head. “Didn’t he get kicked out of Burn Bitches?”

“How did you know that?”

Suki’s mouth quirked. “It’s pretty common knowledge. But you guys had a lot going on so it’s no wonder you didn’t know.” She raised her voice again, turning her attention to Zuko. “Have they heard you play?”

Zuko shrugged.

“I have.” Toph raised a hand. “He’s solid.”

“So come backstage.” Suki gave a little half shrug with the arm not wrapped around Katara’s shoulders. “We’ll try you out.”

Zuko’s head twitched to one side. “You’re not even in their band. You have your own. What do you care?”

Katara opened her mouth, already lining up some choice insults, but Suki threw her head back and laughed, a bright and glorious sound. “Man, where did you  _ find _ him?” she asked Katara.

“Ask Toph.”

Suki shook her head, dabbing her eyes with the second knuckle of her index finger. She fixed her crooked smile on Zuko. “I like these kids. They’re like my pet band now.” She gave Katara’s shoulders a little squeeze. “If they can get another member, more power to them. Aad I mean, look at Toph.” A wave of Suki’s fingers in Toph’s direction indicated the grin suffusing Toph’s face. “Look how happy she is that she might get an actual bass player. How can you say no to that?”

Zuko glanced at Sokka, then around. Moon Fish’s crowd had dispersed enough that no one would miss them; only a few fans still hung around, chatting and getting autographs. Zuko’s nose twitched and he turned back to Sokka. “I don't want to step on any toes.”

Sokka shrugged. “If you’re good, might as well. I wouldn’t mind the bass. Katara’s got most of the guitar stuff handled anyway with that keyboard of hers, and it’s ridiculous that I feel useless next to my baby sister.”

Unspoken in Sokka’s eyes was that little fear that he was dragging the band down; Katara recognized it from years of cajoling him through it. She smiled at him encouragingly.

“Uh…” Zuko said, eyes flicking from face to face. He licked his bottom lip. “Sure.”

“Excellent.” Suki jerked her head towards the stage door. “Let’s go. Right now.”

Zuko shot a panicked glance towards Toph, but obviously that did nothing. His eyes slid over to Katara, but she couldn’t stop smiling. Not nicely either. Sure, maybe Zuko wasn’t a spy...probably. That didn’t necessarily mean she automatically liked him. Or didn’t want to see Suki kick his ass.

Finding no help from her quarter, Zuko squared his shoulders, though Katara could see a drop of sweat slide down the back of his neck from his hairline into the collar of his jacket. He stepped forward with the air of a man going to the gallows. Katara smoothed the skirt of her dress, forced herself to stop grinning like an idiot, and followed.

The Moon Fish’s green room was way nicer than any Avatar had ever had. Katara peered around in envy, her eyes resting on a large amp sitting in the corner and a whole panel of effects pedals on plywood which Suki used with devastating accuracy. Not that the room was great; it was still small and windowless with old couches and bad lighting. But there probably weren’t rats.

Suki went over to one corner, fingering her guitar, a beautiful green creature painted over in gold swirls. She pulled away from that and instead pulled a secondary instrument out of a black case, holding it out to Zuko. “Try this.”

Zuko took the guitar, running a hand over the back of the neck.

Katara sat down on one of the couches—-this one didn’t sink as much as previous green room couches—-and folded her hands between her knees, watching Zuko. Aang sat down on one side of her and Sokka plopped down on the other. Toph felt her way over to an unoccupied couch and flopped onto it.

“I can’t do what you can do,” Zuko said.

Suki rolled her eyes. “No one can do what I can do. Come on.”

Zuko’s eyes flicked over to Katara for a heartbeat. His jaw tightened. He picked up the guitar, plugged it into the amp with a horrible electronic buzz that always made Katara wince, and gave it a experimental strum. He looked around at the small gathered crowd, then down at his hands.

Katara sighed. What was taking him so long?

Zuko took a deep breath, let it out, and launched into a guitar riff that Katara vaguely recognized as Bad Religion. He played fast, fingers slamming through chords with nearly reckless abandon. He didn’t miss notes so much as consider them a nice afterthought to the sheer power he played with. The sound from the amp came across as a physical thing, smashing straight into Katara and knocking her back into the depths of the couch.

By the time he hit the brief solo in the middle of the song, hitting higher notes, fingers screeching across strings, Katara found herself open-mouthed at the sheer  _ anger _ of the music.

Zuko slammed off the last few notes and let them buzz off into silence, breathing a little hard. He didn’t look up. His bangs fell over his face, shadowing his eyes and nose. 

“Damn,” said Suki.

Toph whooped and grinned. “Man, that was  _ sick _ .”

Zuko looked up. Sweat shone on his forehead. He offered a lopsided grin to no one in particular. “Thanks.”

“So he’s in, right?” Toph sat up, her feet kicking against the carpet.

“Yeah,” Aang said. “If he wants it.” Then he bit his lip and looked at Katara. “If...you think so.”

Katara blinked once. Zuko being in the band was the last thing on her mind. She couldn’t get past the passion and  _ power _ of Zuko’s playing. Technical skill be damned. 

What else could she say?

She returned Zuko’s crooked smile, though not to him. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “He’s in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finding something for Zuko to play was actually really difficult; punk isn't exactly know for complicated guitar riffs. Bad Religion has enough melody to it that I figured it could showcase a talent as well as all the things that are important in punk, namely anger and a willingness to fight anyone.


	9. Chapter 9

Toph insisted they all go out afterwards and Zuko didn’t bother to stop her. The corner of his mouth kept twitching. He wanted to smile — he’d gotten into  _ Avatar _ , how had that happened? — but he didn’t want to seem too giddy. He followed his new band and Suki out of the back door of the venue. The city hummed with sound. Amber light suffused the sky, washing out the stars. Zuko sucked in the night air, scented equally with old garbage and jasmine.

Katara threw her head back and laughed at something Aang said. Light flashed off her hair. Zuko shook her head. How could such a pain in the butt girl be so...pretty?

Too bad her face always looked like she’d bitten a lemon when it came to him.

Zuko sighed. 

“So,” Suki said, coming up along Zuko’s left-hand side. She peered up into his bad eye, which limited his vision and blurred it slightly. He turned his head so he could see her better. Suki was tall enough to look Zuko fully in the eye and she didn’t seem to have a problem doing it. Despite that, he noticed her eyes flicking to his scarred cheek every few seconds.

He wanted to ignore it but it was hard.

“So what?” Zuko dropped his head so his hair fell over his eyes.

“Ozai’s kid, huh?”

Zuko’s jaw tightened. “Unfortunately.”

“The one who was in the hospital, right?”

Zuko’s head shot up. He fixed both eyes on Suki, who simply raised an eyebrow. Heart pounding, he grabbed her elbow and held her back for a moment, putting distance between them and the others. Police sirens wailed a few streets away, breaking up Aang and Sokka’s laughter. Zuko dropped Suki’s arm, not wanting to hurt her as anxiety ran through his arms. Instead, he dug his nails into his palm.

“How did you know I was in the hospital?” he asked.

Suki stuck her hands in her pockets and shifted, but not out of fear. It was more to balance her weight, preparing for an attack. “Maybe they don’t,” she said, jerking her chin towards the members of Avatar, halfway up along the block, “but I run in close enough circles to your dad and your sister and Burn Bitches. I heard about the fire at the recording studio.” Her stance didn’t change, but her eyes softened, reflecting gold from the street lights. “I heard you got caught in in.”

Zuko looked away.

“I also know Katara doesn’t like you,” Suki said. “But you’re not lying.” She glanced down the street, at Katara’s retreating back. “She’ll come around.”

“I’m in her band,” Zuko growled. “She’d better come around.”

Suki laughed and started walking again, making Zuko start too if he didn’t want to be left behind. “She’s stubborn,” Suki agreed. “But she’s not stupid. You just have to...you know, prove yourself. Jump through some hoops.” She sped up a little. “But if you get the rest of them, she’ll follow. She just wants to protect them.”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” Zuko muttered but that was all he got out before they were back in hearing range.

Sokka and Katara seemed knee deep in an old argument; Katara rolled her eyes in a fashion that would have made any thirteen year old jealous. “The floor there is sticky,” she said.

“That’s part of the charm.” Sokka stuck out his bottom lip. “Come  _ on _ , Katara, you know I love it there.”

“You love that they always give you free jalapeno poppers,” Katara told him.

Sokka’s eyes darted back and forth, immediately guilty. “Yes. That  _ is _ true, I’ll grant you that, but in my defense...um…”

“I’m not going somewhere with skunk beer and bad music!”

“But Katara!”

Instead of waiting for whatever Sokka’s counter might be, Katara made an abrupt left turn onto a street sporting a line of trees on the edge of the sidewalk. Their pale trunks stretched up past the second story windows of the tall buildings around them, petering off after that into silvery leaves. Katara walked with purpose, heels clacking on the sidewalk, without looking back. No one, not even Sokka and his whining, protested, instead following her like a messy line of ducklings.

She really was the mother of this troop, Zuko thought wryly. A little stab of jealousy shot through his stomach — Sokka didn’t know how lucky he was to have a sister like that. Zuko would have given anything to have Azula try to take care of him even once.

Katara stopped before a resteraunt painted black and trimmed in white and blue lights. She hauled the door open and slipped inside; Aang just caught the door before it shut again. Zuko couldn’t get a glimpse of the inside of the place, just a dark maw of doorway and the quick spark of a bouncers flashlight as he checked Katara’s ID, the light gilding across her chin and lips like the shadows of sun on water.

Zuko caught the door from Sokka, and held it open for Suki and Toph. He squinted into the interior of the bar and caught himself smiling. This was much more the kind of place he would expect to find Katara in her leisure time. No sticky floor here, just a dark polished bar of hard stone or plastic, reflecting low spots of white light. There was a dance floor — equally dark — and the bartender wore a short black dress and a long necklace of blue stones. 

Zuko pushed in, thrust his ID at the bouncer, and was actually surprised when the woman examined it thoroughly before nodding and pressing it back into his hands. When he turned, he almost ran over Katara, who stood directly in his way.

“Watch it,” she said over the music.

Zuko shook his head and followed Aang to the bar for a drink.

“To you, man!” Aang, despite the fact that he was drinking orange juice and soda water garnished with an orange slice, grinned at him with all the affection of a new drunk friend. “It’ll be great to have you in Avatar.”

Zuko ducked his head. “Yeah, it’s uh...unexpected.”

“I hope unexpected is good.” Aang’s wide grin lessened slightly. His dark eyebrows pulled together and doubt crept into the corners of his eyes.

“No, no, it’s great.” Zuko shook himself. “I’m pumped, I swear. Oh, sorry, hold on.” He turned the bartender. “Whatever IPA you have on tap that’s good.”

She nodded, beads clinking, and disappeared.

Aang’s soft face went even softer as he examined Zuko, but that gravitas lurking just below the surface didn’t change. Aang was a study in contrasts; young and old at the same time, serious but fun-loving, nervous but carefree. Zuko couldn’t pin him down and wasn’t sure he wanted to. Maybe that was what made Aang such a compelling frontman, apart from that killer voice.

Zuko licked his lips and looked down the bar at Sokka, ordering his drink and eyeing the bowl of maraschino cherries resting just below the bar’s lip. “I just feel like I’m kicking Sokka out or something. I don’t want to do that to him.”

“Don’t worry. Sokka writes the songs.”

Zuko blinked. “Wait, what?” It was the last thing he’d expected.

Aang grinned again; his infectious happiness made the contrasts lessen dramatically. “Oh yeah. Sokka may not be great as a musician, but as a composer — you know, dealing with all the moving parts, telling us what works, what doesn’t — he’s great. No, maybe he doesn't exactly go sit at a desk and write a symphony or anything, but he can point out a riff or line that works really well and see how it might fit in with someone else’s.” Aang leaned his head down a little and stuck his straw into the corner of his mouth, still watching Zuko. “Maybe you’ve noticed that it’s kind of a hard band to pin down. Lots of different genres.”

“Yeah,” Zuko said dryly. “I’d picked up on that.”

“Oh, yeah.” Aang grinned around the straw. “Guess it’s kind of obvious. Anyway, Sokka can make all those parts work together. That’s his real skill. That's why he’s in the band.”

“It’s not because of his slightly less than mediocre guitar skills?”

“Not so much.”

Zuko turned to watch Sokka receive his drink with new eyes. Everyone had their skills, he supposed, and in a group with so many moving parts, a Sokka was probably intrinsic to the band.

“But enough about that,” Aang said, his eyes oozing away from Zuko. “We’re here to have a good time.”

Zuko turned and followed Aang’s gaze out past the small tables lit by baubles of white light, over the heads of the standing crowd, and out onto the dance floor. A good number of patrons swayed to the music, brighter and louder than he’d expected from somewhere with clear glasses instead of frosted with age and use.

But that wasn’t what — or who — Aang was looking at. In a shifting spot of blue and white light, Katara’s hair waved back and forth like a sea anemone in time with the music. She danced half-turned away from them, facing the speakers, with her eyes closed. Her hands slid through the air in turns and twists, leading her shoulders. She spun on the spot, hip bones drawing small circles in the air before her.

Aang sighed.

A grin crept onto Zuko’s face and he pushed it away. Katara wasn’t a great dancer, exactly, but she was graceful and she clearly loved doing it. A quiet smile lurked on her full mouth whenever she turned enough to allow them to see it. 

“What a dork,” he said aloud.

Aang blinked. His mouth turned down. “Dude.”

“Sorry.” Zuko took a sip of the beer which had appeared in front of him while he’d been distracted. “I didn’t mean it...not…” He growled, shaking his head; he’d totally meant it. “I don’t really hang out with a lot of girls who dance like that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” An annoyed note crept into Aang’s voice, sharpening it.

“Nothing.” Zuko shook his head. “Forget I said anything.”

Mollified, Aang sank back onto the bar, still watching Katara. He set his orange juice down and got up. “I’m gonna go join her.”

“Cool,” Zuko said, unsure of what else to say.

Despite the fact that this was supposed to be some kind of welcome to the band, Zuko felt sort of outside the party. But then again, these were people who’d known each other for what seemed like years, while he’d known them all of a week. Only Suki was outside the group in the same way Zuko was, but she had Sokka who followed her with big puppy dog eyes, when he wasn’t actually following her around.

Suki soon joined Katara on the dance floor, the two of them whirling and swaying in the graceful way of musicians — not like trained dancers, but aware of the construction of the music and able to follow its twists and turns. The two of them laughed together, Katara’s curls bouncing, until Aang came to join them and completely showed them up. 

Who knew the skinny kid knew how to dance?

Zuko didn’t dance. He stood by the bar, leaning half on it, and drank his succession of beers. The feeling of being left out receded, replaced by a pleasant acceptance of these new people. Toph sat near him on a barstool, head down and cocked to the side. Her toes tapped against the barstool’s support. Like Zuko, she didn’t seem to dance and no one made her.

Katara bounced over to the bar, sliding into the space created between Zuko’s shoulder and the patron on his other side. Her forehead shone with sweat and color. She fanned herself with one hand, using her hip to shove Zuko out of the way a little so she could wave down the bartender.

“Mai Tai, please,” she said, flashing a smile.

“Do you want that with a little umbrella?” Zuko grumbled into his beer.

He hadn’t meant for her to hear, but she turned to him, mouth pursed. “You’re not going to shame me for what I drink.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” he protested, though he knew he probably was. How had she even caught that? Did she have ears like a wolf bat?

Katara sighed. “You know, I get that you’re a solid musician and maybe we’re lucky to have you but I’m not going to just like you, okay?”

He wished she’d stop getting in his face at bars when he had nowhere to go. He glanced over his shoulder at Toph, who smiled and shook her head but didn’t seem overly concerned about helping him out. Katara’s curls brushed against the back of his hand and he pulled away.

“Do you still think I’m here to spy on you?”

Katara sighed like the weight of the world had dropped onto her shoulders. “Okay, probably not, but  _ still _ .” She shook her head and glared at him. “You’re a jerk. Your sister is a jerk. And I don’t like you.”

“Great. Thanks.” His sister  _ was  _ a jerk though, he had to give her that.

Katara threw back her hair, the little braids flashing between the curls. She folded her arms, displaying the line tattoos from wrist to bicep. “But given that you don’t seem to be actively trying to piss me off, hurt my friends, or screw up my band, I’m willing to at least call a truce.” She stuck out her hand, fingers ringed with more tattooed lines. 

Zuko stared at her fingers, watching light bounce off the silver glitter in her blue nail polish. Then he gave up and took the offered hand. Her grip was firm, maybe a little too firm, but not unpleasantly so. 

They shook.

“Truce,” agreed Zuko and Katara’s mouth twitched in a hint of a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What music is Katara dancing to? I don't know. Here's the thing; I grew up in the late 90's and early 2000's and was taught to dance by my stepmom who's pretty much the epitome of the 80's. Dance music for me is either Eurythmics and Duran Duran or Cascada. I don't know what modern dance music is. I did some research and can't figure out how to dance to it because it's very slow. Sorry.
> 
> After a lot of thought, I've worked out that it's probably Gossip, Bloc Party, or Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Maybe I'll have to decide for next chapter.
> 
> Katara's tattoos are based on Inuit designs.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been doing some scribbles for this story, though I haven't gotten far. Here's a [Zuko design](http://grapefruittwostep.tumblr.com/post/162751684456/sorta-shitty-zuko-sketch-for-the-dumb-rockband-au) if anyone is interested.

The bartender handed Katara her Mai Tai, which she accepted with a smile and an indication to put it on her tab. She wasn’t always a big drinker, but the buzz rolling through her cheeks and fingers was welcome today. Zuko turned away from her a little, staring into his half-drunk beer. 

A truce...yeah, he deserved that. 

But only that. It wasn’t like he’d really proven himself to Katara yet, just maybe she was willing to give him a chance to try it.

Katara  took a sip of her drink and sighed.

Seemingly in response, Zuko drained his drink and set it down on the bar. He pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and glanced at it. “I should head home.”

“It’s still early,” Katara said, unsure of why she wanted to talk him into staying.

Zuko shrugged. “I have to work tomorrow. My boss is kind of a hardass about being late.”

Katara bit her lip; Toph had told her where Zuko worked, but she couldn’t recall. It had been a long story about some band Katara had never heard of. “Okay. Cool. Um, see you later, I guess. Toph can let you know when we practice I guess.”

How had he gotten into Avatar without them actually playing together? Katara’s stomach churned. What if this didn’t work out?

She shook her head as Zuko turned away to say his goodbyes to Toph. This was paranoia and Katara knew it. They’d be fine. It would all be fine.

Zuko turned back to her and gave her a solemn nod before slipping past her and making his way to the door with his hands in his pockets. The low light glinted off the studs on his shoulders. In the leather and ripped denim, next to the other patrons in button down shirts and high heels, he seemed very out of place.

Katara pulled her gaze away and went to find Suki, glass in hand.

She found her new favorite dancing partner at in the middle of the floor, surrounded by men doing little more than swaying from side to side and staring. Suki danced like she was at a hard rock concert no matter what she was listening to; her hair whipped around her head, an inch or two from a headbang, and her arms moved in ways that were more violent and martial than the other dancers would probably have prefered, since they kept inching away from her.

Aang, on the other hand, danced like a ballerina. Jealousy ran through Katara’s stomach and she shook her head, looking away. Why was he so good at everything?

“Katara!” Suki threw her head back and caught sight of Katara, standing outside the group of dancers. She elbow-danced her way over and pulled Katara onto the dance floor, just barely avoiding spilling the Mai Tai across the floor.

Laughing, Katara let her lead. “You’re going to give yourself whiplash.”

Suki shrugged. “I’ll be fine. No worries.” She flashed a bright smile in the darkness. “What were you and Zuko talking about it?”

Katara rolled her eyes. “How much of a butthead he is.”

“Mmm hmm.” Suki rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Let the poor boy be.”

“But —”

Suki raised a hand and leaned in close so Katara could hear her over Karen O’s soaring voice. “Don’t bother hating him. It’s like kicking a puppy.”

“He’s a grown man, not a puppy!”

Suki laughed and seized Katara’s waist, spinning her in a tight circle. “All boys are puppies,” she said, eyes flicking away from Katara for a quick second and then right back.

Katara grinned, her annoyance at Suki’s needling evaporating. “Are you talking about my brother?”

Light flashed across Suki’s face, making it as pale as her stage makeup. For a moment, her eyes disappeared into pools of darkness, creating an angry mask, but then the light shifted and Suki blinked and shook her head. “I didn’t say anything about Sokka, did I?”

“No, you didn’t.” Katara grinned. “I didn’t think you had to.”

Despite the teasing tone in her voice, Katara couldn’t help but worry about the way Suki’s eyes narrowed as they darted back to Sokka, who lurked at the edge of the dance floor — less embarrassing than him actually dancing. Katara bit her lip. She’d thought she’d read the situation right, that maybe Suki wasn’t as into Sokka as he was in to her, but there was some mutual attraction there.

“You’ve gotta have an image, when you wanna be taken seriously in a band,” Suki said, and Katara wasn’t sure if the subject had changed or if this was Suki continuing the conversation directly. If it was the second one, what did this have to do with anything?

But Suki seemed very serious all of the sudden. “You know what I mean?” she asked.

“I mean, Toph has it, I guess.” Katara shrugged. They’d stopped dancing sometime during the conversation and allowed the current of other people to slide them off the floor to the darker area out of direct range of the speakers. Katra watched the DJ fiddle with his computer in the opposite corner of the floor, holding headphones to one ear, eyebrows furrowed.

Suki sighed, though Katara saw it rather than heard it. “What about you?”

Katara smoothed her hand over her dress and sipped at her drink, which was almost gone. “I like not having a bad reputation. Besides, someone needs to keep these disaster children in line.”

Suki snorted.

“Maybe you’re right,” Suki said after a moment. “Go dance with Aang. He’s staring at you.”

Katara sucked down the rest of her Mai Tai, leaving the empty glass on the sideboard and making her way towards Aang, who  _ was _ in fact staring. He grinned when she came towards him, weaving her way through other dancers with a swing of her hips. Katara smiled back and put her hands in his.

Aang had learned to dance as a kid — Toph always made fun of him about it, and had for years — so Katara felt chubby and awkward next to his long, lithe limbs. But Aang had so much fun doing it, and when she occasionally agreed to dance with him, his eyes glowed like the sun after a rainstorm.

Aang caught her hands up and spun her around. One hand sank as low as her bottom ribs and he whirled her around. His eyes softened and he pulled her towards him.

Laughing, Katara dropped one hand and spun away from him, her dress billowing around her legs. Aang’s fingers tightened on hers for a second, then released so she went whirling off across the dance floor alone, light flashing on the insides of her eyelids.

For a moment there was nothing but Katara and the pale luminescence pooling along her arms. In a second, she would have to think about her newest band member, about Suki’s advice to toughen up, and maybe about the longing look in Aang’s eyes, but for a frozen second she was simply Katara and that was good enough.

* * *

 

Iroh waited at the counter with a pot of tea when Zuko came in the back door of the Jasmine Dragon at his usual morning start time. Zuko’s heart dropped. How did this always happen?

“I have heard you made some new friends,” Iroh said, placing one hand on the teapot lid to keep it in place as he poured two cups. “Would you like some tea?”

“You already poured me tea, Uncle,” Zuko pointed out, “without asking.”

“It was a rhetorical question.” Iroh set the teapot back down. “Everyone wants tea. Sit.”

Rolling his eyes, Zuko sat. The cup burned his fingers, still too hot to drink from, but he circled his hands around it. Heat seeped from the ceramic into his palms. He felt okay — he’d gotten a whole four hours of sleep after all — but he wasn’t going to say no to something warm resting in his belly, banishing the morning chill.

“Miss Toph seemed very nice,” Iroh said.

“Okay, how do you know about any new friends I may or may not have?” Zuko sat back, narrowing his eyes at Iroh.

Of course, no matter what accusation he might have thrown, Iroh didn’t change expression. He just kept smiling, the low yellow light of the cafe glossing across his bald pate. “I have my ways,” he said.

“Great.”

Iroh tapped his fingers against the table, staring at Zuko without blinking. “So?”

Zuko sighed and gave up. “I joined a new band. It’s no big deal.”

Apparently, Iroh didn’t believe that last part, because he clapped his hands like a child and beamed bright enough to put the sun to shame. “This is very good news, Zuko. I was so worried that without your father and your sister you would become isolated. The flower kept in the dark can never grow.”

“I’m not a flower.”

Iroh gave him a smile that made Zuko wonder if he was growing petals, but Iroh didn’t say another word about it. Instead, he pushed Zuko’s teacup further towards Zuko’s hands and said, “You have joined Miss Toph’s band, correct? Avatar? They are quite good. I listened to their new album while you were out at your concert last night.”

Zuko’s eyebrows shot up. “You already listened to it? Are you trying to pry into my life again?”

Iroh pressed a hand against his chest, mouth forming a small O of false offense. “Nephew, I would never do that. Not to you.”

Zuko growled into his tea; prying and meddling was all his uncle ever did. Of course sometimes it worked out to Zuko’s benefit — okay, almost all the time — like when Iroh had been the only one to come to see him in the hospital, or had given him a job and a place to live after the rest of his family had decided that he’d done something so horrible, so unforgivable that he’d deserved whatever he’d gotten in that fire.

That had taught him to disagree with his father about anything. One contract dispute, and now Zuko was basically dead to them. But on the bright side, he wasn’t  _ actually _ dead.

But now Iroh had that same glint in the corner of his bright eyes, the one that said he was up to something. But when was Iroh  _ not _ up to something?

“You know, I believe this will be an opportunity for you,” Iroh said. “You will get out. You will meet people, young people, so you can be young with them.” He shook his head. “Your eyes have begun to look like mine, Nephew, and you are too young to have the eyes of an old man.”

Zuko sighed and lifted his teacup to take a small sip, testing the temperature. “I’m not unhappy, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“But are you happy?”

Zuko paused, rolling the tea back and forth across his tongue.  _ Was _ he happy? That was a hard one. Guilt and anger still ate at his belly every time he remembered how his life had been just six months ago. He had nightmares of fire nearly every night, unless he was too tired. Sometimes he wondered if working in a tea shop was really the best his life was going to get now, after he’d lost everything his family had promised him. No more record contract, no more band, no more family connections. Who did that leave him?

He sighed and put the tea down. The cup clicked against the stone counter. “No. Maybe I’m not happy.”

“And you deserve happiness.” Iroh’s round face scrunched, forming deep lines around his eyes. “You have done nothing wrong. If only my brother —” He broke off and shook his head. “But Ozai has never known how to be a father.”

“Uncle —”

“But enough of that.” Iroh shook his head and filled Zuko’s cup to the rim, even though he’d only taken a single sip. “Tell me about Avatar. Miss Toph is a very skilled drummer. What about the rest? The singer has a beautiful voice.”

“Yeah, he’s good.” Zuko grinned.

“And they like you?”

Zuko shrugged. “I mean, they let me into their band.”

Iroh nodded, keeping his eyes focused on Zuko’s face. “And you like them?”

Zuko thought of Katara’s narrowed eyes, and how much he wanted to blow up on her when she got that snooty look. “Yeah, I like most of them.”

“There are some you do not?”

Zuko shrugged; Iroh would just give him some proverb about how the moon and the sun stay on opposite sides of the world but still work together or whatever. “I’ve really only just met them,” he said, hedging against giving a solid answer. “I don’t think it would be fair of me to judge them yet.”

“That is very mature of you,” Iroh said, nodding sagely. “Drink your tea. We have to open in ten minutes.”

Groaning, Zuko knocked the tea back as he would a shot of whiskey and went to get his apron.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm not actually a musician. I don't write music. I just hang around a lot of them and go to practices and judge them. Like whatever a critical groupie is. So my practice stuff is really from an outside perspective. Hope it reads right.

Katara got to practice at 6:32; late, but her shift at the little bohemian knick knack store where she worked ran late. So when she arrived at the battered Avatar practice room, everyone else was already there and her feet ached. She burst into the room, apologizing already, and dropped onto Sokka’s amps to pull off her trainers.

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” Aang held up his hands, laughing. He wore a t-shirt with the periodic table on it and Chuck Taylors, the traditional uniform of a college freshman who hadn’t declared a major yet. With his long limbs sprawled out across the floor — his usual lyric writing posture — he looked even taller than he did upright. Probably because he cluttered up most of the empty rug space in the practice room.

Toph leaned back on her stool, flipping a drumstick around her fingers and making faces at nothing. Sokka, on the other hand, was lost in concentration.  His computer sat on one thigh and was clicking away with a headphone in his left ear; the other hung loose down the side of his neck. 

All that was familiar pre-practice activity. What was new was Zuko in the corner, leaning against an amp that hadn’t been here last time. He ran his hands over a guitar with a peeling Fire Nation Records sticker on it, one that looked as though he’d tried and failed to pick it off. His large hands danced over the frets in silent chords.

Katara shook off the chill rolling over her shoulders.

“Glad you could join us,” Toph said, applying a stick to her snare. A quiet rumble rolled under her voice.

“Sue me,” Katara said. “Some of us have to work for a living. We can’t all come from vast wealth and not have to worry about paying our rent.”

Toph rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, at least your dad doesn’t bitch at you for not becoming a socialite. At least he lets you play.”

Katara shook her head. It was an old argument, means versus acceptance, and she didn’t want to continue it right now. Especially with the way Zuko’s fingers stilled on his guitar. She wondered which one he had.

“Sokka.” Katara turned to him, and tossing her shoes onto the floor. “Got anything new for us?”

“New?” Sokka ran his hands through his hair. He waved idly at Zuko. “Oh, yeah, I’ll get right on that whole something new without even knowing what Emo Hair over here is going to sound like, yeah, let me do that.”

“Hey,” said Zuko. “I don’t have emo hair.”

“I dunno, I think you might.” Toph hit her snare again, softer this time.

Zuko looked up, narrowing his good eye at Toph. The other eye didn’t so much as move, but it already looked angry all the time. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed his lips again. Instead, he looked at Aang. “Does she do this a lot?”

“All the time,” Aang said and grabbed Toph’s ankle from his position on the floor, making her yelp and try to kick him. Her foot connected with the frame of a drum instead, which issued a loud clanking bang that reverberated through the floor.

“Guys!” Katara slapped a hand on the top of her keyboard, which didn't make half as much noise but quieted everyone down to reasonable levels. “Okay, we’d better try this out now so we can um…” She shot a look at Zuko who shook her head. “Work out the kinks.”

Zuko smirked down at his guitar and hit a jarring chord.

“So Zuko, how does your process usually work?” Toph kicked Aang off her foot and he sat up. “How do you work out a song?”

Zuko shrugged. “My sister wrote the songs. She just kind of told me what to do.”

A silence fell across the room. Katara peered at Zuko, surprised by the anger in his voice. Sokka cleared his throat.

“So um…” Aang said. “That’s...kind of not how we do it.”

“I figured.” Zuko leaned back against the wall, pulling his guitar into his lap. “I wasn’t saying it was a  _ good _ process. Losing my bitchy, overbearing sister isn’t exactly the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Katara blinked and leaned her head down over her keyboard, unsure of how to follow that up.

Seemingly no one else knew what to say either — this could get really awkward really fast — so Katara rolled her fingers across the keyboard. A few bright notes shone out across the room and Zuko answered it with a low chord of his own. He didn’t look at her, but his eyes relaxed, the wrinkles disappearing. The corner of his mouth quirked up and his fingers flew across the strings.

He played much more quietly than he had in the Moon Fish green room, but every once in awhile the way he hit a note suggested at a kind of restrained fury. In contrast, Katara poured through her melody as smoothly as possible, striking high notes against his lower ones.

He petered off after about three minutes, letting go of the strings and leaning back against the wall. Katara glanced at him from under her hair, keeping her head bent over the keyboard. Regardless of what she thought of him as a person, apparently they played well together. That had to be a plus. But she didn’t want to look at him. Music could be so...intimate. And if there was anyone Katara  _ didn’t _ want to share any sort of intimacy with, it was Zuko.

Aang broke the silence, starting a slow clap which fizzled out after a few hard bursts. He scrambled into a sitting position. “All right, that was good. Good start.”

Katara pulled her hair out of her face, taking a moment to add a quick braid to the left side of her face to keep the curls out of her eyes. Pulling her head to the side also allowed her to examine Zuko.

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but she’d hoped for  _ something _ . Instead, he just tapped his fingers against the guitar and watched Toph fiddle with her drums. He didn’t even bother to look at her.

So much for an intimate connection.

Grumbling to herself, Katara pulled her rarely used stool up to the keyboard and plopped down. This was going to be a long practice.

* * *

 

“Okay, again from the top.”

Zuko sighed and rearranged his fingers. One week into his time with Avatar and they’d managed to write just about nothing. It wasn’t what he was used to. No one came in with some perfectly penned sheet music and handed it to him with an imperious smirk. Avatar created music by playing music.

To his left, Toph sighed and dropped her head straight down onto the drum kit with a crash.

Aang turned to her, eyebrows raised. “Something wrong?”

Toph muttered something into the drum head that sounded a lot like, “Eat a bag of dicks,” and raised a single middle finger towards Aang.

Zuko looked away so he didn’t laugh. They were going on their third hour of work and Toph had slowly become more and more frustrated as they’d gone along. After the last ten minute jam session ended, with Sokka still scribbling and nodding without actually giving any criticism, she’d thrown a drum stick into her high hat. Aang hadn’t even noticed, he’d been so caught up in whatever he was working on. To Zuko, Aang’s process sounded a lot like an opera, and was equally impossible to understand, which didn’t make sense because when he’d first seen them live, there had definitely been lyrics.

“What’s wrong?” Aang cocked his head.

“I’m so tired of this.” Toph shook her head, just barely picking it up. Her hair dragged across the drum kit. “Sokka’s nitpicking the same thing over and over again. Pick up a damn bass. Come write a song.”

Sokka looked up from his little corner. Papers cluttered the corner he crouched in, sitting on his haunches like a gargoyle. He ran his hands over his hair. “I can’t write anything, Toph,” he snapped. “Nothing’s working. Well, everything’s  _ working _ when we play, but nothing’s good enough. We can’t follow up what we just did.”

“You’re having album jitters, aren’t you.” Katara sighed and turned off her keyboard with a click. She pulled a a cloth cover over the keys and sat down on her stool, crossing her legs at the knee. “You’re worried that we’re not going to pull it off again. That our first album is as good as we’re gonna get.”

Sokka wailed and fell down into his pile of papers.

Zuko shook his head. He’d learned in the last couple of weeks that while Sokka and Katara looked alike and often sounded the same — especially when they got worked up — Katara tended to be the more logical of the two. She faced problems with a furrowed brow and well thought out plan, presenting it with a delicate touch underlaid with firm certainty. It reminded Zuko of his mother, or at least what he could recall of her from his childhood, before one day she was gone.

Again, Zuko wished he’d had a Katara in his life instead of an Azula.

“We’re gonna fail,” bawled Sokka, crumpling papers up in his hands. “Everything I write is terrible and we’re going to burn out before we even get started.”

“You've  _ got _ to be fucking kidding me.” Toph put her chin in her hand, leaning on her drums. “Wow, I really wish I could see what a fool you’re making of yourself right now. I bet it’s really embarrassing.”

“Yes,” Katara agreed, standing and crossing the cramped room to Sokka. She put her hands under his armpits and half-dragged him into a sitting possition. “I’m embaressed for him, that’s for sure. Get  _ up _ , Sokka, you’re too big for me to carry.”

“What about practice?” Aang asked, glancing from Sokka to Katara to Toph and back around to Sokka.

Katara, having succeeded in getting Sokka upright, sat back and blew her hair out of her face. Today she wore it loose, pinned back only by some intricate clips above her ears. After all this time in the cramped room, her curls had turned to frizz, adding to the harried look in her eyes. She glanced at Aang and offered him an apologetic smile. “Looks like practice is over for the day, kiddo.”

Aang sighed, going limp. “Fine. I guess I have a bio paper that I should write.”

“Booooring.” Toph gave a huge fake yawn. “Dude, you gotta learn to have more fun. Your whole life is just school and band and school and band. Hey, Zuko. What do  _ you _ do for fun?”

Zuko jumped. Despite ostensibly being one of them, the other members of the band rarely included him in their conversation. It wasn’t just that he was new. Even if Zuko had been as blind as Toph, he would have been able to see the bonds that ran through these people. They laughed at the same jokes they’d probably been making for years. He hadn’t even bothered to ask how long it had been that they’d been friends; it was too long to allow him in.

He blinked at Toph as the attention turned towards him. “Um, fun?”

Toph barked a laugh. “Yeah, man, you know, the thing you do that isn’t work and makes you happy. Or are you just so intense that you’re not happy?”

“I’m not intense,” Zuko growled.

Katara propped her still-howling brother against the wall and wiped her hands off on the thighs of her jeans as though he’d given her a disease. “Yeah, Zuko, what  _ do _ you do when you’re not here?”

“Not much.” Zuko picked at his D string. “I kinda don’t have a lot of friends.”

Not since he’d gotten kicked out of Burn Bitches.

“Boo.” Toph shook her head. “Why don’t you guys come over to my place and we’ll try not to think about music for a while?”

“Toph, we’ve got a show in three days.” Aang bit his lip.

“And we have a whole  _ album _ worth of songs to play. All of which Zuko knows. And Sokka’s at least got new bass parts for those.” Toph shrugged, rolling down the sleeves of her t-shirt; she liked to play with them cuffed up on her shoulders for “maximum buffness”. “No one is expecting us to have new material already, not after  _ just _ putting out a record and getting a new member. Don’t be a freak.”

“Don’t you live with your parents?” Zuko asked. “Won’t they mind?”

Toph shot him a dangerously toothy grin. “It won’t be a problem.”

As usual, Katara was the deciding vote. She got up, patting at her wild hair. “I think that’s a really good idea, Toph. We need some time to let this sit without constantly reworking things. It’s not like forcing it will make everything happen.”

“Sweet.” Toph got up from behind the kit, feeling along the edges of the drums to the wall where she’d left her cane. She punched out at where Aang might have been, if he wasn’t five feet to the right. “Come on, Aang, it’ll be chill.”

Aang, always the goodie-two-shoes, sighed and nodded. “Fine. Maybe you’re right.”

Whooping, Toph grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the room, only pausing to let him seize ahold of his bag on the way out. She almost smashed his head off the already cracked doorframe as they passed.

“Kids.” Katara started gathering up Sokka’s papers; he was busy trying to pick himself up. “I’ve only got a couple years on them and they already look so young.”

Zuko snorted. “Just wait until you’re my age.”

Katara’s lip curled. “Are you looking down from the vast and ancient age of twenty-three?”

Sokka yelped and they both looked at him. “Toph took my keys,” he said, patting at his cargo short pockets.  “If she crashes Aapa  _ again _ we are all in such deep shit.” And without waiting, he pelted out the door. His footsteps echoed down the stairs, punctuated by a crash as he hit something on the landing, and then there was silence.

Zuko looked at Katara and raised an eyebrow. “Toph drives?”

“No.” Katara tapped Sokka’s papers against the top of Zuko’s amp, stepping closer to him that she usually would. Zuko moved away to give her more room. “Toph  _ tries _ to drive. She’s not a little blind, you know. It’s an all the way thing.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

A little smile settled on Katara’s wide mouth. “They’re like this all the time, you know,” she said. “Every day is just a disaster. If I had a dollar for every time Toph’s dragged Aang into some kind of trouble, I’d be richer than she is.”

“Doesn’t sound like you’re too upset about it.” Zuko turned away from her, nerves buzzing. He unplugged his guitar and tucked it into his case, keeping one eye on Katara as she fixed up the papers, put them into Sokka’s backpack, and threw it over her shoulder. At any second, this was going to end. Despite the truce they’d called, Katara hadn’t warmed to him. She just hadn’t jumped down his throat recently.

“I’m used to it.” Katara picked up her own bag and shrugged the strap over the same shoulder that held Sokka’s. Her embroidered purse thudded against the heavy nylon of the backpack.

“I can get that for you.” Zuko reached out to take the backpack from her shoulder.

Katara skipped away, glowering, and Zuko cursed himself. “I got it,” she said, surprising him by not sounding at all venomous. “You’ve got your guitar.”

“It’s not that heavy.”

Now she did sound annoyed. “I said I got it, okay?”

“Yeah.” Zuko ducked his head. “Fine. Okay.”

Katara stuck her nose in the air — something Zuko had become almost too familiar with and which he’d stopped taking personally — and walked outside. She waited until he’d crossed the threshold and closed the door, locking it and shoving the key down into the depths of her purse.

“Thanks,” she said, not looking at him. “I mean, I guess. For offering to carry my stuff.”

Zuko blinked. “No...problem.”

Was she sick?

Whatever had come over Katara passed quickly and she walked down to the street ahead of Zuko without once turning to look at him. He ran a hand along the wall, following the dirty finger smudges of all the other people who had done the same thing before. Katara paused at the bottom to pull out one of her inexhaustible pairs of overlarge sunglasses, jamming them onto her nose before stepping out into the last sun of the evening.

The sidewalk glowed golden in the sinking sun. Pink and dark purple streaked the sky to the west, peeping through the taller buildings downtown. Katara stretched her hands above her head, sparking light from her silver bangles. “Where did Sokka park?”

Zuko paused a couple of steps behind Katara, not wanting to get too close. He scanned the quiet street. It was too late for rush hour traffic and too early for the bar crowds to be out yet.

A squeal of brakes. Zuko seized the back of Katara’s sweater and hauled her away from the curb as Sokka’s big white van sped past. Toph waved from the passenger seat — Sokka was driving and pointing to them so he must be telling them what was happening — and leaned out to yell something at them, which it took Zuko a minute to recognize as, “See you there!”

Katara’s breathing steadied. “Idiots,” she whispered, putting one hand to her chest.

“Well that was exciting.” Zuko stared after the van.

Katara cleared her throat. “Um, you can let go of me now.”

“Sorry.” Zuko let go of her. In his haste to get her out of the way of the moving car, he’d yanked her back against his chest, crushing the bags on her back. As soon as Zuko let go, Katara took a few large steps away and smoothed her hair back, as though  _ he’d _ been the one to muss it all up.

Sighing, Katara hiked the bags up higher on her shoulder. She turned back to Zuko, pressing her mouth into a long line. “Well. Can I get a ride, please?”

Zuko shrugged. “Sure. Looks like your friends really want to test that truce.”

“They’re your friends now too.”

That Zuko wasn’t sure if he believed yet. Maybe Toph. But Sokka and Aang? Who knew. Had he won them over? He certainly hadn’t won anything when it came to Katara, but everyone had been telling him that she’d be the last. 

Maybe she’d strangle him on the ride over to Toph’s. That would give him a pretty solid idea about whether or not she liked him.

“My car is this way.” Zuko pointed her over towards the parking lot behind the former mill that held the practice spaces. Katara waited for him to pass and fell in slightly behind him. The hair on the back of his neck stood up but he gritted his teeth and pretended her presence didn’t make him nervous.

“That one.” He pointed to his old Toyota, paint flaking from the bottom of the doors. Part of him whispered that he could get the door from her — that was his private school education talking — but he didn’t. Instead, he tugged open his door and watched over the roof as Katara slid into the passenger seat, depositing her bags at her feet. Only then did Zuko remember to slide his guitar into the backseat before getting in himself and closing the door.

A moment of silence descended on the interior, which smelled of old cigarettes, only some of which were Zuko’s. Katara cleared her throat.

Shaking his head, Zuko turned the key. Immediately, Fugazi poured from the shitty speakers at full volume. Katara jumped. Zuko scrambled for the volume knob, his fingers awkward and stupid for a moment until he finally got it down to a reasonable level. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

Katara snorted, then laughed, but into her lap, refusing to look at him. “It’s fine,” she said, flipping her hair back and looking out the window. Golden light rimmed the edge of her sunglasses, highlighting her cheekbones. “You know, it’s kind of funny. I figured with your dad owning a punk label and all that you were just sort of forced into it, but you weren’t, were you. You actually really love music, huh?”

“I mean, don’t you?” Zuko threw an arm over the back of Katara’s seat to look over his shoulder as he pulled out. His fingertips brushed her hair and he pulled them back, making a fist. “Isn’t that why you’re in a band?”

“But my dad didn’t make his money off it. Turn right out here.”

Zuko put both hands on the steering wheel and followed her instructions. “Sure, music was always huge in my house, but I wouldn’t keep playing or keep trying to get better if I didn’t actually care about it. My sister...it’s easy for her, you know? I could have just let her carry the torch if I didn’t like it. But I did. I do.”

“Clearly.” Katara waved a hand at the radio, which was still spitting Ian Mackaye’s voice, just at less painful levels. “I’m not judging you for it. I just didn’t really expect it.”

“Seems like you didn’t expect a lot from me.” Zuko gritted his teeth, annoyed that he couldn’t get the angry burr out of his voice. “Sorry. I just don’t like being prejudged, especially because of something I had nothing to do with.”

“Yeah,” Katara said, sounding equally annoyed and not at all like she was agreeing with him. “Left up here.”

They headed into a more upscale neighborhood, one that reminded Zuko of where he’d grown up, except there were more gardens here, and less glass. Katara leaned back into the passenger seat, propping one knee up on the dashboard. She kept her gaze firmly out the window beside her, rather than letting it stray towards Zuko.   
He sighed and readjusted his grip on the wheel, then, reached out and turned the music up a little, just a little.

Passive aggressive? Him? Never.

“That one.” Katara pointed at a large house set slightly back from the street. Zuko turned into the driveway, wondering how much Toph’s folks had to pay to have that massive stretch of lawn cut. Sokka’s van nestled on one side of the house and Zuko parked alongside it.

Katara got out first, resting one hand on top of the car. Zuko took a second to beat back the anxious butterflies in his gut. His fingers brushed the pack of cigarettes in the cup holder, but he thought better. Instead, he took a deep breath and opened the door.

Katara watched him with her luminous eyes. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

“Cool.” She shrugged and headed towards a side door trimmed in stone and half-covered in ancient ivy. “Let’s get this party started.”


	12. Chapter 12

“Why the fuck is her house so big?” Zuko asked quietly as Katra opened the door without knocking. The house loomed above them, silent and cold. No lights were on in any window Zuko could see, despite the deepening evening.

Katara glanced over her shoulder at him as she stepped into the dark hall. “What, yours isn’t this big?”

Zuko was pretty sure she was trying to make a joke and she honestly had no idea how big his “house” actually was, but it didn’t stop him from being somewhat stunned by the sheer size of Toph’s place. They’d come in a side door, into a small hallway full of shoes with a row of coats hanging against the wall. Zuko looked around.

“We never go in the front,” Katara said, keeping her voice low as she leaned past him to pull the door closed. “Toph’s parents don’t really approve of us. I promise you if they did, we’d be practicing here instead of that shitty little room.”

Zuko snorted. It would have been nice to play rather than a room that smelled of mildew, but he knew all about not seeing eye to eye with parents. He didn’t bother to take off his boots, seeing as Katara kept her sandals on, and followed her up a set of wooden stairs.

Once they reached the upper level, he heard the laughter.

Katara pushed open a door on the left and light flooded the darkened hall. Toph’s room was bigger than Zuko’s apartment, and better furnished. The walls were painted a pale green and the furniture glinted pale and intricate under the single overhead light. It looked nothing like Toph, but since she couldn’t see it, that made sense. Ditto to the fact that there wasn’t a single lamp in the room; either Aang or Sokka must have turned on the harsh light shining down on them.

Toph sat on the floor, leaning against the hardwood footboard of her large bed. Aang lay on the bed, upside down, with his pale hands hanging spider-like over the edge. Sokka lounged on a green couch with his sneakers up over the armrest.

“Oh good,” Sokka said as they stepped into the room. “You made it.” He waved a hand at Toph and Aang. “These two were trying to kill me so I couldn't stop to pick you up.”

“I hate you all.” Katara dropped Sokka’s backpack by the door and let Zuko close this one behind them. Immediately, Katara went to a tall white wardrobe in one corner and opened a bottom drawer carved with chrysanthemums, pulling it open and removing two bottles; one half-full of something translucent brown and another that was almost certainly a wine bottle. Neither had labels. Katara held them up. “Anyone?”

“Are you promoting underage drinking?” Toph gave an overdramatic gasp, putting her fingertips to her open mouth. 

“Not if you don’t want me to.”

“Some influence you are.” Toph shook her head. “You know, I’m a delicate child and—”

“Oh, shut up. It’s  _ your _ stash.” Katara sat down in a spindly chair beside a heavy wooden coffee table. “Sokka, get me some glasses.”

“What about your parents?” Zuko gingerly took the free armchair on the other side of the table.

“Away.” Toph scrambled over to her bed, smacking Aang’s leg in passing. “As usual. It’s better that way. They figure I’m just up here studying and being blind, which is really the only way they know to think of me, so no one cares.”

“When in reality you’re starting bar fights,” Sokka said. “Which honestly is really unfair. No one wants to hit a blind chick.”

“I got a cracked rib to prove you wrong.” Toph peeled up her shirt enough to reveal the band of a sports bra and some old bruises, faded to yellow and brown. “Does it still look awesome?”

Sokka held up a hand, shaking his head. “Why you gotta be like this?”

Toph laughed and dropped her shirt. Zuko shot a look at Katara, noting the worry in her eyes, but since she wasn’t yelling and her posture hadn’t changed, he assumed this was normal Toph behavior. He had to give it to Toph; she was a tough little thing.

Sokka, still shaking his head, got up and took a teetering stack of glasses from a clearly unused vanity cluttered with drum sticks, bowls — both dirty and clean — large thick books with heavy pages, and old CDs with sharpie labels scrawled across them. Balancing the glasses with both hands, Sokka brought them over to the table and set them in from of Katara, who took two off the top. She poured a measure of the brown one out and handed it to Sokka; it passed close enough to Zuko’s face for him to catch the oaky harshness of whiskey. Toph got the same, though in a much smaller quantity. Even though Katara was pouring alcohol for a minor, it was pretty obvious she wasn’t one hundred percent happy about it, from the way her nose scrunched in disapproval.

Aang received no glass and didn’t ask for one. Instead, he sat up on the bed and took a sip of water from a cracked black mug with the Abbey Road cover on it.

Katara looked at Zuko. “Whiskey or pinot?”

“Whiskey.”

Katara shook her head and poured it for him; apparently he merited a full half glass, like Sokka had gotten. Then she uncorked the already open bottle of wine, wiggling the cork from the mouth with grim determination, and filled her glass to the brim.

“Wine mom,” Sokka whispered loudly.

“Shut up, Sokka.” Katara pulled back her hair away from her face and leaned down, sipping from the rim before she picked the full glass up. “You don’t understand what it’s like dealing with you.”

“I really don’t.”

“Aang.” Toph waved a hand vaguely over her head. “Music.”

“Got it.” Aang bounced up and went over to the dresser, the top of which was taken up by a pretty extensive sound system, the kind Zuko would expect of some of the less affluent music venues in the city. It was the only part of the room that really felt like Toph. Aang ran his fingers over the spines of CD cases on a tall shelf beside the stereo, tongue between his teeth.

“How do you know which CD is which?” Zuko asked, wondering if that was impolite.

“Aang helped me put braille on the spines.” Toph shrugged. “You do what you need to do. And if you can’t do it, you make your asshole friends do it for you.”

“Careful,” Aang warned, pulling something from the stack, “or we’re listening to Tchaikovsky.”

“You wouldn't dare.”

Aang smiled, guileless, and slipped his chosen CD into the player. The bass line was familiar, but took Zuko a moment to place. In that time, Toph grinned, knocked back her whole quarter-glass of whiskey, and high fived Aang as he slid down to the floor next to her.

Then Joan Jett’s guitar leapt in and Zuko grinned. Of course Toph liked the Runaways. Who else would she like?

With the music reverberating through the room, conversation splintered. Sokka drank his whiskey like it was his job, going from standing, to sitting on a couch, to lying on the floor in a matter of a half an hour. Every once in awhile he struck up a conversation with Katara, but she just shook her head at him.

Aang changed the CD after the Runaways ended to some more modern girl fronted hard rock that Zuko had never heard before. Now on her second glass of wine, Katara stretched out so her feet were up on the coffee table, eyes hooded, one foot bobbing in time with the guitar. Toph, on the other hand, managed to keep talking while air drumming so ferociously it was basically dancing.

Despite the relative calm, Zuko didn’t feel the itch he’d been expecting. Burn Bitches didn’t do this. Maybe the girls did, somewhere Zuko had never been, but he wasn’t invited. They had parties, of course, but those usually devolved into violence and regrettable sex.

Thankfully, there was none of that.  This was a simple evening for real people and Zuko really liked that. Of course he wasn't exactly sure what to do with himself. Who was he supposed to talk to? Toph and Aang seemed pretty engaged in whatever they were doing — Toph was laughing and Aang looked more and more upset, his little mouth pursing into a white bud.

Katara, the only other person still seated in a chair instead of on the floor, sighed and poured the last drops of whiskey into Zuko’s glass. “You’re the only one who should have this,” she said, glancing pointedly at Sokka on the floor. “I try to monitor Toph’s intake at least.”

“That’s, uh...sweet of you,” Zuko said, closing his mouth on how far down his list of “bad deeds” underaged drinking was. But hell, not everyone could be a juvenile delinquent. It was actually kind of a relief not to be offered anything white and powdery.

Katara made a face. “I gotta get more.”

Despite his internal pledge to quit, Zuko got up. “I’m gonna go outside for a bit. Have a smoke.”

Katara looked around the room. “I’ll come.” She picked up her bottle of wine, nearly empty, and followed Zuko out of the room. Katara waved to Sokka on the way out, raising the bottle slightly to indicate her mission, and he fell back onto the floor, giving her a slightly sideways thumbs up.

She indicated that Zuko should step into the hallway first, the closed the door after them. There was some apology in her eyes as she glanced up at him, mouth rucking over to one side of her face. “Sorry about them. My brother is a total lightweight. It’s embarrassing.”

Zuko shrugged. He was so used to Azula’s drinking that anyone in the world would seem like a lightweight in comparison. “It’s not that embarrassing. It’s okay, I’ve been to my share of parties that went way worse, way faster.”

Katara snorted, leading the way back down the hall, which Zuko was grateful for; he’d have been lost already. The silence around them magnified their lonely footsteps on the hardwood floors. A shiver ran across Zuko’s spine.

“This way.” Instead of going down to the ground floor, Katara took a left and led Zuko through a dark room with a piano and out onto a balcony overlooking the lawn. Night had fallen, leaving the sky dark and clouded over, lit only by the diffuse luminescence of moon through haze. Katara went straight to the railing and leaned against it, tilting her face up to the sky.

Not wanting to intrude with her moment communing with nature, Zuko leaned against the doorframe and pulled a crushed pack from his pocket. Katara turned back to him as he rummaged for a lighter, coming up with one a second later under some old ticket stubs. He looked up at her, waving the pack. “Want one?”

She made a face. “No. I don’t.”

“Fine.” He stuck the cigarette between his lips and lit it. The yellow light burned his eyes and he blinked.

Katara hoisted herself up onto the balcony railing. Though it was difficult to tell in the darkness, Zuko thought she was staring at him. Her face was at least turned in his direction. The pale moonlight shone down on the top of her head, lighting the mountains and dips of her curls, shadowing her face, and glossing along the bare skin of her arms.

“You don’t approve,” he said; a fact, not a question.

“Not really.”

“And you don’t approve of Toph drinking, but you facilitate it.”

Katara shrugged, making the moonlight ripple across her shoulders. “It’s better she do it here, in her own house, with some supervision than out where no one can take care of her.”

Zuko blew a long cloud of smoke from the corner of his mouth. “Aren’t you a little young to be her mom?”

Katara laughed, but there was no humor in it. “That’s what everyone says.”

“And you don’t like it?”

She shrugged again, the same wave motion sending more rivers of light over her hair, hypnotic and fay. “My mom died when I was little. You think Sokka was going to take care of himself? Or my dad? So it’s not like I’ve ever gotten to be anything  _ but _ other people’s caregiver.”

“Oh.” Zuko swallowed. The smoke on his tongue weight it down, stifling the words he considered uttering. “Sorry.”

“It was a long time ago. I’m over it.”

She didn’t sound particularly over it.

“My mom—” Zuko started then stopped. No, that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t a competition, and she wouldn’t care about his problems. He shook his head. “Sokka’s, what, my age? He still needs it?”

“Sokka has the emotional maturity of a house plant.” Katara rolled her eyes. “Trust me. Someone needs to keep him in line.”

Zuko wasn’t sure that plants really had a reputation for their immaturity, but he didn’t comment on that either. Internally, he patted himself on the back for getting better at biting his tongue every time he could have thrown some snarky remark Katara’s way.

“So Toph and Aang are just added benefits?”

“Benefits might be a little strong.”

Zuko pulled on the cigarette. The red ember flared into bright golden life for a second, then died out again. He tapped it over the side of the balcony, so as not to leave evidence for Toph’s parents, should they ever return, and exhaled. It gave him a moment to think before voicing his next question.

“Why are you out here?”

Katara cocked her head. It was hard to see her face with her back to the light, but he got the impression that she was studying him just as much as he’d been studying her. Maybe she too was biting back some internal douchebag remark.

“I was warm,” she said, her voice level but guarded. “I wanted some fresh air.”

“Truce or no, I was pretty sure you weren’t my biggest fan.”

“Do I have to be?” Her head tilted in the other direction. “It’s a big world, Zuko. We have to breathe the same air at some point.”

“I’m just saying, you don’t need to be here. You don’t need to force yourself to tolerate me. I get that we don’t like each other.” He snorted. “Believe me, I picked up the vibe you were putting down. I’m not even that offended anymore.”

“Who says I’m forcing myself to endure the horribleness of your presence?” Now a bite had crept into Katara’s words. “You know, you’d make this all a lot easier if you just stopped talking.”

“Apparently I’m not great at that,” Zuko growled, touching his cheek. He pinched the end of his cigarette out between middle finger and thumb and flicked it over the edge of the balcony. In the new darkness, the air felt heavier and rife with emotion, though whose, he couldn’t tell.

“You know, my mom’s gone too,” he said. “Not dead. I mean, maybe. She just...left.”

Katara shifted, sliding her hands along the railing. “Okay.”

“No one in my family did what you did for yours.”

“I mean, if you’re trying to get me to adopt you too, you should know I’m over having grown children.” Still balancing on the rail, Katara folded her arms and leaned back a little, dangerously close to toppling over the edge.

“That’s...not what…” He shook his head. “I didn’t mean that. I don’t want that. You have enough to deal with.”

“Katara?” Aang’s voice echoed through the house. “Katara, where’d you go?”

“Out here, Aang.” Katara slipped off the railing so when Aang stepped out onto the balcony, she stood on the tiled floor instead of putting her life in the hands of fate. 

“Hey, there you…” He took two steps out and spotted Zuko. His posture when from nervous excitement to nervous disappointment. “Oh, hi, Zuko. I didn’t see you there.”

“I get that a lot.” Zuko shook his head. “I should go see if Toph’s making a fool of herself yet. It’s good entertainment.”

“Yeah, I’ll come along.” Katara stepped forward, patting Aang’s elbow. “I need to find another bottle of wine, though, if she’s going to get any worse.”

“She probably will.” Aang laughed, falling in step with Katara. Zuko stepped in front of them, trying to remember the way back to Toph’s room, but really he only had to follow the sound of over-loud Metallica to find her. Aang whispered something and Katara laughed.

“Any more of that whiskey?” Zuko asked over his shoulder. “Or whatever else is handy. I’m not picky.”

Nervousness pricked at his throat. He’d have to drown it in alcohol at this point. It was the only sure fire way to still his worries.

“I can take care of that,” Katara said, and Zuko smiled despite himself.


	13. Chapter 13

Katara finished counting out the drawer, one of the last steps of her store closing process when Suki, of all people, knocked on the clear glass door. Katara jumped and rushed to let her in, though her boss probably would have had a fit. Thankfully, said boss wasn’t here, since he trusted Katara enough to close without supervision. Maybe he’d regret that.

“What are you doing here?” Katra ushered Suki inside, grinning despite herself. “Get in here before someone sees you, we’re supposed to be closed.

“It’s only five.” Suki checked her watch. “You close early.”

“We’re more a lunch-time-browse-with-friends store.” Katara waved her hands at the piles of silk scarves and shelves of beads. “No one wants to buy patchouli incense after about six.”

“Must be nice when you have practice.” Suki leaned against the counter, sticking her hands in the pockets of her black jeans. “How’s that going?”

Katara cicked her head, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Fine. Should it not be?”

Suki shrugged. “Never said that. You wanna get a drink? Figured we could ask Toph, get a whole girl’s night out thing going.”

“Yes!” Katara perked right up and redoubled her speed in counting dimes. “Yes, absolutely. I’ve spent so much time with the boys lately that I want to hang myself.”

“Little overdramatic, but I can dig it.” Suki grinned. “We’ll even go somewhere nice. Sokka said you’re not big into dive bars.”  
Katara’s hands stilled. “When did he tell you that?” She couldn’t help grinning.

Suki, however, didn’t look amused. “Last night, Katara. At your show.”

“Oh yeah. Damn.” Katara finished her counting and deposited the day’s profits into a manilla envelope. “Let me just finish up here.”

Suki nodded and pushed herself off the wooden counter, going to explore the store. A little bit of everything hung from the walls; beaded weavings from the south, like the ones Katara had grown up with; old scroll painting of mountains and clouds, lonely in their simplicity; a million scarves and t-shirts printed with complicated designs; and of course, the overwhelming smell of incense. 

“You know,” Suki said, lifting a handful of Tiger’s Eye from a clay bowl, “this is exactly where I expect you to work.”

“Toph says this is why I smell like hippie all the time.” Katara locked the cash drawer and went through the curtain of wooden beads over the door to the back room to tuck the envelope away in the safe.

“Let’s be real, you’d smell like hippie regardless,” Suki called after her.

Rolling her eyes, Katara came out, closing the otherwise unused back room door and locked that too. “You guys are convinced I’m some kind of weird flower child, aren’t you.”

“Not without merit.” Suki put down the Tiger’s Eye. “You ready?”

“Yeah.” Katara looked down at her work clothing, a loose blue top and high waisted white jeans. “Should I change?”

“Would you change into anything significantly different?”

“No.” Katara shook her head. Someday she’d be friends with women whose ideas about fashion went beyond a t-shirt and a leather jacket, but she wasn’t lucky enough right now. Oh well. At least Suki sometimes put on a pair of heels.

“Excellent. You’ll be fine.” Suki jerked her head at the door. “Come on. We can get some food first if you like. I assume you haven’t eaten unless you’re storing nuts and seeds somewhere back there like a lemur.”

“No hoarding for me.” Katara shooed Suki out the door and locked it behind them. Groups of school kids ran by, their laughter echoing off the stone and wood of the storefronts. Couple walked along the sidewalk, fingers tangled together, talking quietly, always smiling. Katara felt a little stab of jealousy — there would always be part of her that wanted that — but she crushed it. What time did she have for dates and gazing lovingly into someone’s eyes? Avatar had six shows booked in the next two months alone and Katara still had work and the inevitable hell of coaxing Aang through his summer exams.

Suki tapped something out on her phone, then shoved it back into the pocket of her jeans. “Toph says she’ll meet us there.”

“She’ll probably get there first.” Katara wasn’t sure how Toph did it, but she was always first and annoyed about everyone else being late, no matter how on time they were. Probably just another excuse to be mad about something. “Where are we going?”

“New place on the corner of Bamboo and Third, just opened.” Suki grinned. “You’ll like it.”

Katara  _ did _ like the restaurant as soon as she stepped inside. Suki held the door open for her, allowing her to step into the brightly colored bistro, its walls painted golden brown and printed with swallows and cranes. The tables were made of a deep red wood and a fountain burbled somewhere out of sight. Toph sat at a curved half-booth off to one side, leaning back against the cream pleather, eyes half closed. A pot of tea sat on the table in front of her, steaming.

“How does she do that?” Katara muttered.

They went to join Toph, Suki sitting in one of the wooden chairs and Katara sliding onto the booth side next to Toph. “Hey, it’s Katara and Suki,” Katara said.

“Figured you probably weren’t the waitress.” Toph rolled her head back down. “Wanna pour some tea?”

Katara took the teapot and poured out three small cups. A waitress came over and deposited a handful of menus at Suki’s elbow, smiling and dancing away before they could ask for anything. Suki leaned her forearms against the table, cupping her chin in one hand as she examined the menu spread before her. “Wonder if their pho is any good.”

Toph ran her fingers over the tabletop until they bumped against her teacup. “Probably. Everything smells delicious, though I dunno what it is. What sounds good?”

Katara looked down the menu, leaning a little towards Toph. “They’ve got like eight different noodle dishes. They have that one with the little pork rolls that you like.”

“Yeah, get me that.” Toph grinned. “And some of those dumplings with the fish in them that you’re into if they have them. Or really just any dumplings. With anything in them. That’s what I want.”

Katara found some dumplings on the menu and filed Toph’s order away for the moment while she looked for her own dinner. When the waitress came back, this time with a smile and a pad of paper, Katara ordered for both her and Toph — she got noodles too, but with shrimp. Suki asked for the pho and grinned at the waitress, who peered at her as though trying to figure out how she knew this black-clad rocker girl with the bright eyes.

So the usual.

Toph took a sip of the tea and pursed her lips. “A little overdone, but okay. Not as good as what Zuko’s uncle makes.”

“Zuko’s uncle makes tea?” Suki raised an eyebrow.

“Zuko’s uncle was in Dragons of the West.” Toph puffed up her chest as though she too had been in this band that, frankly, Katara had never heard of.

But Suki had heard of it. She banged her palm down on the table. “Shit, I forgot all about that! And now he makes tea?”

“That’s where Zuko works,” Katara said, trying to join the conversation; she was feeling somewhat left out. “I think. Right?”

“Yeah.” Toph nodded. “We should go get tea from Iroh someday. He’s really good at it. Like, a real tea artist.”

“How’s that going?” Suki reached out across the table and dragged one of the cups of tea over towards her. “With Zuko and everything. Is he fitting in with the band and whatever? Is he good?”

“He’s good,” Toph said. “Katara  _ hates _ him.”

“I do  _ not _ hate him.” Katara reached out to pat Toph’s arm, shushing her. Toph growled and pulled away. “We’re fine. Everything is fine.”

“It’s not fine. And what were you guys doing last week when you snuck off at my house?” Toph folded her arms. “Fight club?”

Suki laughed, a little too loud for the restaurant, and knocked back the tea like a shot. “Of all the people who would start a fight club, I’m pretty sure Katara would be last on the list.” She shot a crooked grin across the table. “What  _ were _ you sneaking off to do? Seven minutes in heaven?”

“Yes.” Katara seized the pot and poured Suki another cup of tea, spilling it across the table. “After we played Truth or Dare and Spin the Bottle.” She rolled up the corner of her mouth. “I’m not twelve, you guys. I went to find another bottle of wine because Sokka exhausts me when he drinks. Zuko went out to smoke. He didn’t know where to go so we went out to the balcony so he didn’t get lost. That’s  _ it _ .” She shook her head. 

“Calm down, Katara, we’re just teasing.” Suki unrolled her chopsticks from their cloth napkin and used it to mop up the encroaching line of tea. “Don’t worry, no one thinks you’re doinking Ozai’s kid.”

“Aang caught ‘em at whatever it was.” Toph shrugged.

Suki’s eyes lit. She whistled, low and long. “Damn, how’d he take it?”

“Wait, what does that mean?” Katara looked from one to the other, but she’d been shut out of the conversation. Suki watched Toph with glowing eyes and Toph leaned in on her elbows, grinning. “Guys,” Katara prompted, “what do you mean?”

Toph ignored her. “He seemed okay, I guess. A little put out. Kind of the kicked puppy dog thing in his voice.” She shook her head. “Not sure what he thought was going to happen, honestly. Like for one thing, it’s none of his business what they were doing —”

“Which,” Katara butted in, “for the record, was obviously nothing”

“And for another,” Toph said, speaking over Katara, “he should have known she wasn’t just going to run out of him. Us. Whatever.”

“Hold on.” Katara held up both hands. “What are you two even talking about? Why would Aang be upset about me talking to Zuko? He wants everyone to get along. It should have made him happy, not sad.”

Suki finally turned towards Katara, one pointed canine emerging between her lips. “None of my business,” she said. “Just that you’re gonna break his baby heart someday, and I think it should happen sooner rather than later.”

“Why would I break his heart?” Katara put a hand to her chest. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“You’re already doing it,” said Toph.

Katara narrowed her eyes. “Wait, is this the ‘ _ Aang has a crush on me _ ’ thing again, because Toph, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times, that’s stupid. He’s not into me. He’s just a little kid.”

“He’s nineteen,” Suki said, waving her chopsticks to emphasize her point. “Legal. No longer jailbait.”

“You guys are being stupid.” Katara threw up her hands, ready to flip over the dark wood table with the tea pot still on it just to spite them. “Aang doesn’t treat me any differently than he did when he was twelve.”

“That’s because he’s been in love with you since he was twelve,” Toph said.

“He has  _ not _ .” Katara wished she could give Toph one of her more chilling glares, but it would do nothing. “That’s stupid. You’re both being stupid.”

“Not stupid if it’s true,” Toph said.

Katara was about to open her mouth to respond when the waitress came over and deposited three steaming bowls of noodles onto their table, effectively ending the stupid conversation for at least the time being. Steaming just as much as her dinner, Katara picked up her chopsticks and dropped her gaze to the food in front of her. The curled pink bodies of the shrimp floating in clear broth, which she’d been excited about only moments before, made her stomach churn. She poked one and it disappeared into the noodles only to emerge an inch away, fetal and unappetizing.

Neither Toph nor Suki shared her concerns and tucked into their noodles with relish. Toph ate like a starving animal, despite all that familial wealth, and though Suki was more delicate, she applied herself to her pho as though this was the most important thing she’d ever had to do.

Katara forced herself to eat a noodle. The saltiness stilled her nervous stomach and she scooped up another one, slurping it into one cheek with minimal spillage.

“Anyway,” Toph said, making Katara’s stomach clench, “It’s not like Aang talks to anyone else that way. Just accept it, Katara. It’s just a dumb little kid crush and you might as well put it down now before it gets any worse. Let him move on to other people.”

“What, like you?” Katara shot back.

Toph snorted. “As if. I’d break that kid in half just by looking at him. Already basically do it now and there's no romantical nonsense to make it awkward.” She grinned. A lime pip stuck in her teeth. “Can you  _ imagine _ ?”

“Now don’t get me wrong, Aang’s a great kid,” Suki said, resting her chopsticks on the edge of her bowl, “but Toph’s right.”

“About what?” Katara said in her most honied voice, to hide the acid bubbling below her tongue. “The crush or how much of a bitch she is?”

“Both,” Suki said, shrugging. “But mostly I mean the part about how you gotta tell him you’re not into him soon rather than later.”

“Why don’t we all shut up about this, okay?” Katara picked up her spoon and dipped it into the bowl. “If everyone could just stay out of my love life that would be awesome. Talk about someone else’s relationship drama.” She pulled up her spoon, laden with clear broth. A loose chunk of noodle floated in it, bumping gently against the side. “Like, I dunno, why Suki won’t go out with my brother.”

“Yeah,” said Toph, instantly latching on to this new topic. “Why is that?”

Suki’s open face slammed closed. She reached across the table and snagged one of the dumplings from the long rectangular plate next to Toph’s bowl. “I don’t have time for boys,” she said. “I’m busy.”

“Too busy even for a little fuck and run?” Toph raised an eyebrow and stuck what seemed like half the bowl’s worth of noodles into her mouth all at once.

“What, you have time?”

Toph shrugged, slurped, and swallowed. “Probably. But not the inclination.”

Katara looked at her. “Nothing at all?”

“Who cares?” Toph shrugged. “I have other shit to do.”

“Exactly,” said Suki. She’d managed to smooth her face into something less angry and now leaned an elbow on the table, chin balanced over her bowl. “Who has time for boys?”

Katara didn’t bother to try to exchange a covert glance with Toph; she’d learned long ago to suppress that. Instead, she snorted. Toph snorted back. That seemed to get the point across.

Somewhat tense silence fell around the table. Katara took the opportunity to shovel down a few mouthfuls of noodles before someone else said something to put her on edge.

“All right.” Suki sighed. Tension ran out of her shoulders like wax. “So we don’t talk about our love lives. Easy peasey. That’s a rule I can abide by.”

Katara sighed. She liked that rule. That protected her from any more stupid questions about Aang, or even stupider ones about Zuko. Much as she wanted to press Suki about giving Sokka a chance, clearly this wasn’t the time or place. Whatever mental block Suki had was her business, not Katara’s.

Not that Katara was good at staying out of other people’s business, but she was definitely going to try this time. Really. No matter how hard it was.

“How’s the pho?” she asked instead.

Noodles, desert, two bars, and five hours later, Katara flopped face first into bed. Her head already ached with the hangover she was about to get. She’d managed a glass of water before bed, holding on to the side of the kitchen sink for dear life, but that was all. When she shut her eyes, the world spun. 

The last thing she thought of was the glow of Zuko’s cigarette in the shadows of the balcony, lighting his nose and chin red-gold.

Then she lost consciousness and drifted into a whirling, fretful sleep.

* * *

 

At 8:30 in the morning, Zuko looked up just in time to recognize Katara behind her large blue-tinted sunglasses before she said, “Can I get a green tea?”

Zuko paused in his usual “silent treatment” customer service and leaned his hands on the counter.  He cocked his head, taking in Katara’s ashy cheeks, pale lips, and the bags she was clearly trying to hide beneath the sunglasses, though the lenses were too pale to fully disguise her. “Katara,” he said in his most gentle voice, which was still on the raspy side, “you look like shit.”

Katara started and her mouth popped open. “Oh no, are you kidding me?” She pulled down her sunglasses. “ _ This _ is where you work?” 

Zuko found himself leaning half forward, almost smiling, and jerked back. “Are you sick or…?”

“If I’m sick, it’s my own doing.” Katara shoved her sunglasses up onto the top of her head. Her eyes were bloodshot. “My head feels like death.”

“Okay, no green tea for you.” Zuko went to the back wall where the loose leaf tea resided in clear glass jars, all labeled in Iroh’s small, neat characters. “Let’s see...Ginger Lemon. I’ll put it on ice, even though my uncle could have me killed for it. Just enough to make it sort of lukewarm, which I know doesn’t sound appetizing, but it’ll settle your stomach.”

“Is it that obvious?” Katara touched both hands to her face, just below her eyes, and gave the skin of her cheeks a light pull. She winced, one index finger going to her temple, and shook her head. “Okay, I guess so.”

“Sit there.” Zuko gestured to the counter spot. “You just missed the work rush. I’ll get you some water.”

Katara sat, dropping her bag to the ground. “I should be at work too. In like an hour and a half.”

“So plenty of time.” He got her the water and set it before her in a plain white mug. “You really do look like balls. What were you doing?”

“Wow, you sure know how to talk to a girl.” She leaned her elbows on the counter and wrapped her hands around the water. “I went out drinking with Suki and Toph.”

“Bad choice, Pop Princess.” Zuko spooned the tea into a pot and poured water over it. “Don’t go drinking with rockers and metalheads.”

Katara groaned. “I know. I totally screwed up.”

“You’ll make it. Hold on.” Zuko broke off the conversation to help a woman with a handbag the size of Sokka’s van, then came back to Katara, pouring her now very well steeped tea into a ceramic tumbler half full of ice. He put it down before her, the ice cracking loudly as it shattered and melted.

“Thanks.” Katara put aside the half-drunk water cup and sniffed the tea. “This smells amazing.”

“Yeah, well, my uncle makes a good blend.”

“Thanks.” Katara leaned her head against the rim. 

“Drink it. Don’t fall into it.”

Katara made a face that lacked her usual venom and took a sip. “This is good.”

“It doesn't need to be good. It needs to make you feel better. Finish it.” Zuko shook his head. 

The Jasmine Dragon’s line had cleared up like a bad thunderstorm, and now patrons sat at small tables, drinking their tea out of dark mugs and reading newspapers. Some bobbed their heads to Zuko’s early morning mix of bright pop-punk which Azula had always made fun of him for liking — “It’s not  _ real _ punk, Zuko, don’t be so stupid and  _ mainstream _ ” — while others stuffed earbuds in, probably for something a little stronger in the morning. One twenty-something girl drummed lightly on the table, her fingers beating out a rhythm that even Toph would have been impressed by.

“What did you drink?” Zuko leaned against the counter.

“It was green,” Katara said, running her thumb around the lip of the tall mug, “and I don’t remember much after that.”

Zuko winced. “Suki?”

“Always. She likes shots.”

“And you can’t handle that, huh?”

Katara glared. She raised the cold water glass and pressed it against her forehead. Like with many victims of a hangover, her pale face and slightly haunted eyes gave her an air of delicacy, like fine old lace. It also watered down her glare. Zuko just smirked at her.

“You’re not as charming as you think you are,” she told him.

“Jokes on you,” Zuko got her a second glass of water, this one with ice, “because I don’t think I’m charming at all. That one’s for your head. Don’t drink it.”

“Why not?”

“Because if the temperature change messes you up, I really don’t want you puking all over this counter. This is a classy place, Katara, and I can’t have to upchucking. We have a certain kind of clientele.”

Katara cast a glance around the room. “Aging punkers and students?”

Zuko huffed. He reached out to pick up his own drink of the morning, a heavily spiced blend of black tea and cardamom that his uncle claimed could take the skin off the roof of his mouth. Zuko drank it every morning and so far nothing was bleeding, but Iroh wasn’t exaggerating that much. 

Not something he would be serving to Katara though. Especially not in her weakened state.

As usual, however, even the thought of Iroh brought him bustling out of the back room. Zuko stood, swallowing an overlarge sip of tea, as Iroh took in Zuko’s casual lean and Katara’s position in the “I know this person” seat.

“Nephew, introduce me to your lovely friend.”

The tea ran down the wrong pipe and Zuko burst out into a fit of coughing. Iroh clapped him on the back, but at the same time offered his other hand to Katara. “I am Iroh, Zuko’s uncle. And you are?”

Katara dropped the ice glass from her forehead and offered a smile that was bright but nowhere near her usual. “Katara. Zuko joined my band.”

“Oh!” Iroh’s face lit up. “You play the keyboard. Yes, I have seen your photograph and heard your music. Zuko did not tell me you were also so beautiful. Perhaps this is why he spends so much time with you at practice, yes?”

“Uncle!” Zuko, throat still aching, shot Iroh a death glare, but it bounced off. Anxiety ran down into Zuko’s lungs, following the burning path of the tea. His left nostril started twitching. “Katara and I are  _ just friends _ .” And usually not even that, but there was no point in telling Iroh that Katara wanted to push him out a window.

Iroh winked at Katara, who had gone red all the way to her hairline. She looked into her tea and tucked her braid behind her ear, her cheeks pulled up into a half-hidden smile.

Zuko grabbed Iroh’s elbow and pulled him close so Katara couldn’t hear. “Uncle, what are you doing? You’re embarrassing both of us.”

Iroh shrugged, not looking at all apologetic. “She is very pretty, Zuko. Does she have a boyfriend? Would she like one?”

“Uncle,  _ please _ !”

Iroh sighed, a long deep note that seemed to come from his toes. “Miss Katara, my nephew is being very shy,” he said. Zuko averted his eyes and crossed his arms. “I am sorry if he comes off so blunt. He is truly a very nice boy.”

“I’ll try to keep that in mind,” Katara said, sounding slightly strangled.

“How are you enjoying your tea?”

“Very much.” Katara wrapped her hands around the cup and nodded.

Iroh opened his mouth to ask another question — probably something even more embarrassing — but thankfully a customer came up to the counter and pulled his attention away. While Iroh trusted Zuko with most of the Jasmine Dragon’s business, if he was nearby, he would have tackled Zuko in order to get to wait on a customer. He just usually had too much else to do.

Katara stared after Iroh, lips slightly parted.

“Yeah, he has that effect on people.” Zuko rested his hip against the counter, examining Katara only out of the corner of one eye. “Sorry. He can be really, um...pushy.”

“I noticed.” Katara’s voice had a lemon bite to it. She took a sip of her tea and sighed deeply, the wrinkles between her eyebrows relaxing.

“Yeah, uh…” Zuko scratched his jaw line through rising stubble. “He’s like an annoying pushy mom. Tries to set me up with anyone that I so much as speak to. I think he wants grandkids to spoil or something.”

“He’s your uncle though.”

Zuko looked away. “Close enough.” He didn’t want to go into how little of a father Ozai actually was. It opened too many doors that all led to pity and that was the last thing he wanted from Katara. If he was going to win at least her grudging approval — for the sake of the music, of course — it wouldn’t be through manipulative shit like that.

Clearing his throat, he changed the subject. “How’s your head?”

“Better.” Katara bobbed her shoulders, a tiny shrug. “I’ve learned my lesson, for the next two weeks at least.”

Zuko shook his head. “I’ll bring you some of this tea to have. Seems like you might need it.”

“I’m not a lush, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“I wasn’t implying anything.”

Katara stood, more steady than when she came in. “Can I get a to-go cup for this? And like...pay you?”

“It’s on me.” Zuko waved a hand. “Feel better.” He took the cup out of her hands, poured it into a paper cup, stuck a plastic lid on it, and pressed it back into her hands. “If you’re a mess at practice tonight, you’re gonna throw off the whole groove. And we have a new song tonight, right? Don’t screw that up.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, you ass.” There was the ice that he’d been waiting for. Zuko nodded and maybe watched her for too long as she walked to the door and shoved it open with one hip, pulling her sunglasses down at the same time.

When he turned around, Iroh was beaming at him.

“Absolutely not,” he told his uncle and went back to making tea.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise we're getting to the good stuff! Thanks to everyone for the support.

“Okay, so big show tonight.” Sokka rubbed his hands together. “We debut a new band member, a new song with an awesome part for said band member, and we can sell a shitload of albums if we play our cards right.”

Katara shot a laughing glance at Aang, next to her on the practice room couch, who just rolled his eyes. She stifled her smile behind her hand, not wanting to interrupt Sokka’s flow. He was well in the middle of it by now, bouncing on his toes, the hems of his cargo pants flipping up and down with every bob.

Toph, lounging behind her drums, raised a hand.

“Yes, the girl with the unbearably eighties haircut?”

“Yeah, I don’t know what that means.” Toph put her hand down. “What cards do we have to play?”

“I’m so glad you asked that.” Sokka beamed. “So first, in this corner, we have our brand new and fantastic guitarist, Zuko. Zuko, say hello.”

Zuko, who was literally in the corner which had become his usual place, raised a hand about six inches off the body of his guitar, and said, “Hey. Zuko here.”

“Dude.” Sokka looked pained. “Come on, you gotta do better than that if you want this to work out. Don’t you want the fans to like you?”

“People don’t really like me,” Zuko said, squinting.

“We don’t really have fans,” Katara pointed out.

Immediately, Sokka was next to her, feet nearly skidding across the worn carpeting. He threw one arm around her already sweaty shoulders, tripling the warmth of the stifling room. Katara only half-pretended to gag and shoved him off her. “Katara, oh my skeptical and depressing sister,” Sokka persisted, leaning against Katara’s arm, his sweat sticking to hers and making her stomach churn, “what do you call all those people at our shows?”

“Wrong place, wrong time?” suggested Toph.

“Accidently playing at a homeless shelter?” said Zuko, somewhat unexpectedly. Toph laughed and leaned over her drums to hold up one hand, which Zuko dutifully high fived.

“Okay, guys, enough.” Aang waved a hand. “Obviously we have fans, or we wouldn’t have been able to crowd source an album. Or fill places when we play. Or headline. So why don’t we all stop giggling about it and let Sokka talk?”

“Thank you, Aang.” Sokka stood upright and took ahold of his lapels, though since he was wearing a t-shirt, it didn’t quite have the same effect; he was basically just holding on to the front, wrinkling the . “And, I’ll have you know that despite Zuko being terrible at banter —”

“I don’t think that’s a point against me, honestly,” Zuko said.

“ _ Despite that _ ,” Sokka said very loudly, his voice bouncing off the bare walls, “we are going to do awesome tomorrow because we sound awesome and our new song is awesome. And then we are going to be  _ nice and interesting _ at the merch table, aren’t we?”

Katara nodded. Beside her on the couch, Aang did the same. Toph, on the other hand, just muttered something, while Zuko stared at his hands.

Sokka’s eyes roved over them. “Okay, so fifty percent of you are going to be nice and interesting and the the other fifty percent are not going to work the merch table then. Got it.”

“Who’s gonna be there when we’re playing?” asked Toph.

“I have enlisted Haru to be our merch bitch while we’re otherwise occupied,” Sokka told her.

“Ooooh.” Aang narrowed his eyes. “Okay, but does he still have…?” He glanced at Katara and bit his lower lip. “You know.”

“I dunno what you’re talking about,” Katara said primly, knowing exactly what he meant and putting her nose in the air rather than dignifying that with an answer.

“You know.” Aang waved his hand back and forth over his upper lip. “The... _ thing _ .”

“Hey, Katara.” Toph’s voice filled with unadulterated glee. “Is it true what they say about guys with mustaches? Does it really tickle your thighs when they —?”

Katara whirled, her cheeks suddenly burning. “I didn’t sleep with him, Toph. Would you cut that out? Grow up.”

“You did make out with him at a bar though.” Sokka raised his eyebrows at his sister. “Am I going to have to get someone else because there are so many unresolved emotions between you and our merch bitch?”

Katara shot a look at Zuko, the only one to whom any of this was news. He peered at her through his too-long bangs and, when their eyes met, raised his remaining eyebrow at her. There was a laughing quirk to his mouth that she didn’t like. Katara broke the gaze and stared at her her hands, clenching and unclenching them in her lap.

“Let’s talk about something else,” Aang said, his voice uncharacteristically dark. “We’ve played the new song like sixty times, yeah? Where do we need to work on it, Sokka?”

“Aw, come on Aang, don’t be such a spoil sport.” Toph pouted.

Aang’s head snapped up, a movement too fast for his usual delicate grace. “Toph,” he said, voice cracking like a whip across the room. “Drop it.”

Toph didn’t exactly flinch, but her shoulders came up like a defensie lion-turtle. The left side of her mouth curled up in a sneer, revealing an awful lot of teeth. “Sure, Aang,” she said, nearly spitting aggression, “we’ll drop it if you’re going to be such a baby about it.”

“I am not —” Aang started, his pale eyes narrowing, but then he caught himself and snapped his mouth shut on the words. He took one long deep breath. Katara touched his shoulder with just her fingertips. Aang took another deep breath and offered a weak smile. “Okay. Anyway, so at least we have someone watching the table, right?”

“Yeah, all right.” Toph’s face was still pale, arms folded across her chest, but she seemed willing enough to accept Aang’s change in attitude. Katara scowled at Toph, knowing it wouldn’t make any difference. She hated the way Toph needled everyone, and always got to them, even Aang who was so good natured it was almost embarrassing. But that was just Toph’s way and Katara had long ago accepted it. Well, most of the time. At least now she knew better than to let Toph get to her.

She glanced at Zuko, something she found herself doing more and more during conversations, trying to gage his reactions as the new person in their lives. This time he just shrugged. She wasn’t sure if he was smiling — his eyes held more than their usual brightness, but whether that was amusement or anger, it was hard to discern.

“Okay.” Sokka clapped his hands. “Good talk everyone. Let’s go load up Appa.”

* * *

 

Together, Zuko and Aang heaved Zuko’s amp up into the van. It landed on the carpeted interior with a thud. The whole van bounced, suspension creaking. Zuko held his breath for a second, but then everything normalized.

“We’ll make sure Sokka drives slow,” Aang said, biting his lip. He glnced at Zuko. “Wanna help get Toph’s drums?”

Zuko shrugged. “Sure.”

Aang offered a hesitant little smile, and started back into the building, pushing open the side escape door, which they’d propped open with Aang’s hard-sided box of cables and microphones. The concrete stairwell loomed above them, in a half darkness of lighted landings and shadowed steps. Aang and Zuko climbed together, Zuko running his hand along the inner railing.

Katara clattered past with her keyboard stand thrown over one shoulder. She beamed at Aang on the way, slipping between him and Zuko. Her skirt swirled against their legs.

Aang turned to watch her progress down the stairs, his steps slowing enough for Zuko to get a few steps above him. When he realized Aang had paused, Zuko stopped moving and leaned against the railing. Aang’s eyebrows pulled up into melancholic curves.

Zuko cleared his throat.

“Oh.” Aang turned back, his cheeks going red. “Oops. Sorry.” He took a step up again, following Zuko.

“So, are you planning on telling her or…?” Zuko trailed off and shrugged suggestively. 

The blush in Aang’s cheeks spread to his whole face, including his ears. It even showed through his buzzed hair and made his birthmark go purple. “Uh, I um...dunno what you’re uh…” He cleared his throat. “What do you mean?”

“Man, come on.” Zuko shook his head and kept climbing. “You know. That you’re…” He paused and waited until he heard the door downstairs bang closed on the mic case; for Aang’s benefit, he didn’t want to out the kid in front of Katara. “That you’re into her.”

“I’m…” Aang shook his head and sped up, scooting past Zuko. “I just...do you think she’d…?”

“Do I think she likes you back?”

Aang folded his arms, pressing them to his sides as though trying to look smaller, but only succeeded in looking more reedy and loomingly tall. “Yeah.”

“Look, kiddo, I’ve only been here for a month.” Zuko shrugged. He leaned past Aang to push open the door to the third floor where their practice room — and Toph’s drum kit — lay. “I can’t be expected to know all the gossip. Besides, she wants to pull my eyes out of my skull and potentially eat them, so it’s not exactly like Katara really confides in me or anything.”

Aang snorted. He looked down, drawing in on himself, arms wrapping around his chest and pressing against his ribs. He still didn’t manage to shrink into himself, as some people could, but it made him appear very young. Childlike. 

He bit his lip, not quite meeting Zuko’s eyes. “Is it  _ super _ obvious?”

Zuko remembered the way Toph had talked about it. “To everyone but her, I think.”

Aang sighed. “Great. I guess it could be worse.”

When Zuko shifted his feet, the shuffling sound echoed through the stairwell like a thousand leaves in a storm. “We should get moving before Toph gets all upset.”

“Yeah, she can be pretty impatient.” Aang grinned. He peered at Zuko from under his eyelashes. “You’re not going to tell Katara?”

“None of my business.” Zuko started up the stairs. “Come on, let's get those drums.”

Aang had just run up the stairs for the fourth time to get the last of Toph’s cymbals when a shiny red convertible pulled up in the parking lot. Zuko loaded a snare into the back of the van and turned to examine it. Toph and Sokka were in the front seat of the van already, laughing, and hadn’t noticed it, but Katara, in the back of the van itself, came out to lean against the metal doors.

“That’s too nice for this dump,” she said, shading his eyes.

Zuko’s heart dropped out of his chest and smashed across his shoes. “Oh no,” he muttered.

The car pulled up in a flair of gravel and tire screeches. In the driver’s seat, Azula tilted her sunglasses down. “Zuzu,” she purred. “Fancy meeting you here.”


	15. Chapter 15

Zuko scooted slightly so he stood between Azula’s car and Katara, though he wasn’t sure what he’d be able to do if his crazy sister decided to hit them with her car. Someone in the front seat of the van turned on the radio; Journey blared across the parking lot.

Azula laughed.

“Zuzu?” hissed Katara from behind him, her voice tight. “So this is your sister?”

“How’d you guess?”

Mai leaned forward from the passenger seat and snorted, then leaned back. Ty Lee, on the other hand, smiled and waved but didn’t bother to do anything more to defend Zuko from whatever Azula was about to dole out.

“What do you want?” Zuko asked, keeping his gaze focused on Azula, who raised her sunglasses again, hiding her eyes.

“I wanted to check on you.” Her head tilted and Zuko got the feeling she was examining Katara now. “Find out what sort of low class riff raff you’re associating with in these days in this old moldering mouse nest.”

“Azula —” Zuko snarled.

“Excuse me,” Katara said in that honeyed voice that Zuko had learned meant absolute danger, “but who are you?”

Azula stared at Katara. “You know who we are,” she said.

And Zuko knew that Katara did know who Azula was, but when he looked over his shoulder at her, she’d pasted on a look of polite — maybe even slightly embarrassed — confusion. It was an impressive showing. She blinked, keeping her eyes wide and innocent. “I’m really sorry,” she said, dripping sickly sweet words over her lips, “but I don’t think I do.”

Azula pulled her sunglasses down, looked at Katara, then put them back on. “Zuko, your friend is an idiot.”

“Go away, Azula.”

“Are you someone important?” Katara asked.

“No,” Zuko said, staring at Azula. Light glinted off the hood of the car, making it look as though it was on fire. “She isn’t anyone important at all. Go buzz off. Steal some ice cream from children or something.”

“Come on, Azula, let’s go.” Mai leaned back, leaving Zuko a clear view of her hard profile, her mouth pursed into a tiny dark rosette. “Leave him and his stupid little girlfriend alone.”

“Jealous?” Zuko shot, and then was stunned by his own nerve. Ever since she’d dumped him, he’d found it so much easier to just ignore her. Never antagonize. That was too much.

Mai snorted.

“Bye bye, big brother.” Azula waved. “See you at your show tonight.”

“Don’t you dare come!”

But it was too late. Azula’s foot slammed down onto the gas pedal and she peeled out of the parking lot. Gravel and old glass spattered the toes of Zuko’s boots.

“Fuck,” Zuko breathed.

Sokka stuck his head out the driver’s side window, pushing loose hair out of his face. “What’s going on back there, guys? You fighting crime?”

“Not yet.” Katara stared out across the parking lot, her eyes searching blue beacons. Her mouth turned down at the corner, a tiny, angry slash in the full moon of her face. “She seems uh...nice.”

“She’d better not come to the show.” Zuko slid in closer to the bumper, his shoulder brushing against Katara’s knees. He offered her a hand to hop out of the back, but she shook her head and stepped onto the dirty asphalt herself.

Aang banged open the warehouse’s back door. “That’s the last of it, guys! Let’s go.” He threw the drum into the back of the van, eliciting yowls from Toph as it clanged into Appa’s metal side. Laughing and apologizing, he glanced at Katara before getting into the van himself.

She didn’t even look back. Her face was more ice than flesh.

Zuko grabbed Katara’s elbow and pulled her around the corner of the van, out of sight and hopefully earshot. Her eyes snapped to him, burning the blue of St. Elmo’s fire. 

“Katara,” Zuko growled, considering giving her a little shake to snap her out of her anger, but she yanked her arm from his grasp. “Don’t tell them.”

“What?”

Zuko ran his hands over his hair. “They didn’t see Azula.” He jerked his thumb at the front of the van. “Don’t tell them she was here. I don’t want to freak them out more than necessary. I can take care of her, okay? I can…” He groped for the right thing to say, the one that was also true, and came out with, “I’ll keep Aang safe from her.”

Katara’s head twitched to the side, birdlike. “Safe? What’s she going to do?”

Zuko honestly didn’t have any idea what Azula might do. It could be nothing. It could be murder. Who knew with her? He leaned against the side of the van, wrapping his hands around the back of his neck and pulling down. The muscles of his shoulders stretched. A vertebrae cracked.

Katara ran her hands down her ribs, over her wide hips, and through the folds of her skirt, straightening the hem of her shirt over it. She sighed. “So it’s not just your dad who’s a shit, huh?”

“No.”

Katara’s fingers twitched towards Zuko, but then she balled her blue skirt in one hand. Zuko didn’t mention the nervous fingers. He didn’t want to make her any more uncomfortable than she already was.

“I can protect Aang just fine, you know.” Katara pulled at her skirt, up this time, barring one knee. 

“I know. But it’s my family. Let me deal with them.”

Katara sighed. She pushed her curls out of her face. “You can’t stop me.”

“Never said I could.”

A blast from the horn echoed through the metal siding of the van. Zuko jumped. So did Katara, but she gave a little shriek as well, instantly covering her mouth with both hands. Sokka leaned out the window, neck and spine curving to peer back at them. “Yo, we gotta motor,” he said. “If you guys want to argue, you’re going to have to do it on your own damn time.”

“Fine.” Katara pulled open the side door of the van and hopped in. Only the most forward of the three bench seats still resided in the vehicle. Aang sat in the middle, curled over his skinny knees like a spider, but scooted over as soon as Katara pulled the door open. She sat down in the middle; Zuko took the last remaining seat next to Katara and closed the door. He leaned against it, not wanting his leg to touch hers.

“Awesome.” Sokka turned up the music and flipped his aviators down over his eyes. “Let’s rock this show, assholes.”

He slammed on the brakes and the van peeled out of the parking lot.

* * *

“Can I get a little more of me in the monitors?” Aang asked through the microphone.

The sound engineer gave something that could have been a thumbs up, but Katara was too far away to be able to see clearly. Despite that, the sound girl didn’t touch any of the knobs or sliders on the soundboard in front of her, so maybe she hadn’t heard Aang’s request..

Aang wasn’t looking. He’d cocked his head to one side, peering at the monitor and clicking his tongue to check the levels, then nodded. “Sounds good.”

The engineer smirked and went back to the book she was reading beneath a small blue tinted light curved over the board.

Katara looked out over the milling crowd. There weren’t a lot of them or anything — over twenty, under fifty — but the place only held seventy-five according to the fire department sign next to the door, so it felt full. From the stage, Katara could pick out individuals as they moved around the small, black room, stopping by the bar to pick up another drink between bands, talking amongst themselves, heads thrown back in laughter.

Toph tapped a pedal and a hollow boom vibrated throughout the stage. Katara jumped, then winced.

Zuko, guitar hanging across his chest, glanced at her and raised one dark eyebrow. She turned away, not wanting to speak to him, but he edged closer, leaning towards her. 

She held her breath.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” She kept her eyes focused on the keyboard, brown fingers splayed over the white keys. If she squinted just a little, it didn’t even look like she was shaking. “Why?”

Zuko’s hair flared out as he flipped his head up to the crowd and then away. “Nothing. I mean, have you seen Azula?”

Katara shook her head. “I think she was messing with you.”

“Probably.” Zuko faded back, stepping over a cable with the ease of long practice. “That sounds like her.”

What a pleasant sister, Katara thought uncharitably. Not that she would ever think of Azula with a hint of charity, since the woman seemed like a real...word she wouldn’t even think to herself.

“Sorry about her,” Zuko said.

“Not your fault she’s the worst.”

One of those rare half-smiles spread across Zuko’s face. He ducked his head so his hair covered it, and most of his scar, but one bright eye flashed out at her. “I guess so, but that still doesn’t change the fact that I wanna punch her in the mouth.”

That surprised a laugh out of Katara, which she tried to stifle before Zuko noticed. It didn’t work. His subtle grin widened.

“Guys!” hissed Toph.

Katara glanced up and realized Toph had been waving her hands in the classic gesture of “are we ready yet?” No one had responded to her, an important step in the process.

Zuko hefted his guitar. “Yeah, kid, we’re ready.”

“Then let’s do this, assholes,” Toph said and slammed into the first song with barely a count.

Playing was second nature for Katara, but she still wasn’t one of those people who could do things entirely by muscle memory or feeling. She played looking at her fingers fly over the keys, tongue tucked between her teeth. Sometimes she’d glance up at Aang, but usually she kept her eyes to herself. That let her focus on what she heard, the tiny changes in Aang’s voice, the steady beat of Toph’s bass drum.

They’d played together with Zuko enough that the addition of his guitar — so different from what Sokka’s had been — plus the additional bass didn’t throw her. Nothing threw her today. Everything worked. Everything was perfect. Flawless.

It wasn’t until the applause and whooping from the crowd at the end of the song hit her ears that she looked up, right at Azula and her posse standing by the door. Ice water ran through Katara’s veins. Her fingers spasmed against the keys.

Zuko, standing just behind her, swore quietly. Aang spoke into the mic, waving and chatting, but Katara couldn’t make out the words. 

Azula winked and she and the other two girls with her vanished through the door, out of the venue.

Zuko leaned in close to Katara’s ear. His breath ruffled her neck. “She’s trying to psych you out.” 

“It’s working.” 

Something bumped against her bare upper arm — Zuko’s elbow. He pulled away fast. “She’s gone. Don’t let her get to you.”

Katara sighed. Her heart still pounded.

“Breathe,” muttered Zuko. “If you get upset, that’s what she’ll want.”

Katara closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She imagined herself submerged in a still, cool lake. Nothing touched her but the water. Nothing mattered. She needed no emotion, no fear, no anger.

“Alright, so we’re gonna play another song,” Aang said. He hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary.

Katara focused on her keyboard again. She would not let Azula get to her. She would _not_. She stuck her tongue back between her teeth and bore down on the melody with all her might.

At the end of their set, the applause was nearly deafening, even after the slamming of guitars. Grinning, Katara looked up. There was no sign of bright, cruel eyes or metallic stiletto heels in the audience; Azula and her girls hadn’t come back.

Suki caught Katara just before she hit the floor and wrapped her arms around Katara’s shoulders. “You did great!” she yelled in Katara’s ear just as Katara pulled out her earplugs. “You did  _ so _ great!”

Katara rubbed her ear. Her feet ached. “Thanks, Suki.”

“Where’s Aang?”

Aang’s hand came down on Katara’s shoulder at just that moment, his presence warm and familiar at her back. “Hey, Suki!”

“Oh good!” Suki pointed over her shoulder, a wild gesture. “That guy over there wants to talk to you.”

Katara squinted over the crowd, bathed in low light. “What guy?”

“Elvis Costello wanna-be guy.” Suki pointed. The man she indicated was indeed a skinny little thing wearing thick black glasses. “It’s important.” She must have caught the nervous wiggle of Katara’s lower lip. “No, he’s cool though. He’s a friend. Let me get him.”

Katara opened her mouth to protest whatever this was, but Suki was already gone in a hail of elbows.

“What do you think he wants?” Aang said, leaning down so his face was level with Katara’s.

“Hopefully nothing.”

But then Budget Elvis Costello emerged into their orbit, smiling. “Guys,” said Suki, grinning widely, “this is Fuong.”

“Hi there.” Aang reached over Katara’s shoulder to shake Fuong’s hand. “I’m Aang, this is Katara. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You guys were fantastic.” Fuong smiled and adjusted his glasses.

“Thanks,” Katara said warily. Aang plastered a smile across his face — it might even have been genuine, knowing Aang — but Katara couldn’t offer Fuong the same courtesy until she knew what on earth he wanted from them.

An awkward pause ensued. Aang kept smiling.

“So.” Fuong clapped his hands. “Don’t know if Suki told you, but I’m the booking agent at Moon Fish. And I wanna book you guys there sometime next month.”

Katara’s heart leapt. “Are you kidding me?”

“I never kid,” said Fuong.

“Yes! Absolutely!” Aang grabbed Fuong’s hand again, shaking it vigorously. “Thank you so much!”

Fuong laughed. “Wow, it’s nice to meet someone so enthusiastic.”

“What’s with this?” Sokka stopped on the stairs behind them, peering at Fuong.

The excitement bubbled over in Katara, leaving her limbs humming. She whirled and hugged her brother. “We’re gonna play Moon Fish!” she squealed.

Sokka whooped and everything dissolved into hugging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every single sound engineer in this story is me. Just in case you are wondering. The fake monitor trick is one of my favorites to deal with annoying singers and I will never stop using it.
> 
> Thanks to everyone for the support!


	16. Chapter 16

“Time to get wasted!” Suki yelled and shotgunned a beer so fast that Katara got whiplash.

Even the idea of playing at Moon Fish had apparently merited a party. After everyone had been thoroughly hugged, congratulated, and all members of Avatar had shaken hands with Fuong — except for Toph, who had missed a fistbump — Suki insisted they all come over to the apartment she shared with the other members of Kyoshi. One phone call from her to Yori, the drummer, and by the time Katara walked in the door, there was a house party in full swing, and they were the guests of honor.

Misa, the singer, a petite, pretty girl who’s fragile frame belied the strength of her singing voice, shoved some kind of jungle juice into Katara’s hands as soon as she stepped through the front door. “Welcome to the big leagues, girl!” Misa yelled over the music — David Bowie, played at defining levels. “Wow it is so awesome you guys are doing this great!” She hugged Katara. “I’m so proud of you!”

“Uh, thanks, Misa.” Katara took a large swig of the drink, which was heavy on fruit punch and rum. She knew Suki best, but all the Kyoshi girls had always supported Avatar. Well, they’d really supported her and Toph. The boys were just lucky enough to be along for the ride.

The Kyoshi “apartment” had once been a typical open artist’s loft, but someone had come through and installed walls, locking doors, and decent kitchen appliances. It was painted in leaf green and rich, earthy brown. One corner of the spacious living room was littered with instruments and blocked off with furniture. The rest was a riot of rescued couches, scratched wood floors, cleverly painted end tables and, everywhere Katara looked, people. It looked like every band Katara had ever played with had somehow made it, and on short notice.

She bit the inside of her bottom lip and sighed. Why was it so busy?

“I think I might be a little young for this party,” Aang said to Katara; in the context of this party, it was a whisper, though he spoke above his usual volume. He waved a hand. “This whole place smells like weed.”

“Yes, that’s because of all the weed.” Sokka nudged Aang in the ribs. “Loosen up. What are you, a nun?”

Aang shot Ktara a long suffering glance. Toph, meanwhile, dived right past them and lost herself in the crowd, leaving only her raucous laughter to show which direction she’d gone.

“I hate social people,” Katara muttered after her; a ridiculous anger since she was one of the more social members of Avatar, especially after Zuko had joined. But Toph was something else, something Katara could never hope to achieve.

“But we need to celebrate!” Misa draped herself over Katara’s arm. “Come on. Let’s get you something to drink.”

“I’m holding a drink,” Katara pointed out, which did nothing to dim Misa’s enthusiasm. She dragged Katara into the middle of the living room, threw her solo cup in the air, and whooped. Everyone else screamed something like approval.

Katara managed a raised glass and a weak smile.

“Drink that.” Misa pointed to her cup. “ _ Then _ you’ll need something to drink.”

Katara peered into the bright red depths of the drink, accepted her fate, and chugged it.

People kept cheering, so Katara figured she was doing the right thing. She grinned as she lowered the cup, wiping a drop of red punch off her chin with the back of one hand. Misa hooted, high and melodious for a drunk girl sound, and linked arms with her to pull her towards the kitchen. The counter was littered with bottle of alcohol, most still full — the blue recycling bin in the corner held all the empties — and at it stood Sokka and Suki, standing the required two feet away from each other, a distance that nearly screamed “sexual tension”. 

“Let me get you the good shit,” Misa said and dragged a square bottle of Jose Cuervo across the counter.

“Oh, no, bad idea.” Katara held up her hands. “I don’t like — “

“One.” Misa dug a handful of mismatched shot glasses out of a cabinet with flowers painted on it and set them up on the counter. She poured out the shots and handed them around — Sokka apparently got to join this particular girl power ritual. Misa looked over Katara’s head and raised an eyebrow. “What about you, tall, dark, and brooding? You want one?”

“I don't think that’s a good idea,” Zuko said. 

Katara, turning to figure out just who Misa was talking to, almost leapt out of her skin. Zuko’s rough voice seemed out of place amongst all these embarrassingly intoxicated women, but only Katara seemed upset by his presence. Misa grinned and shoved a boot-shaped shot glass at him, pressing it against his hands until he took it, probably just to get her to stop.

“No chaser?” Sokka asked.

“Woman up,” Suki told him with a hint of self-deprecating smirk, and knocked the tequila back like an expert.

Not to be outdone, Sokka tried to do the same and coughed, tears springing to his eyes. Suki pounded him on the back, grinning. “All right,” Sokka said, bracing himself against the counter with one hand. His voice developed a raw edge. “Do I get to be in your super special secret girl’s club yet?”

Suki smiled at him, the first time Katara had seen a real, unguarded smile offered to Sokka. For some reason, Suki kept him at arm's length, even while she flirted. “I dunno. That’s up to the girls.”

“You know the rules.” Misa dangled her tequila between two fingers. “Band comes first. Girls come first. Boys come as an afterthought.”

“Rough,” Zuko said quietly.

Sokka started coughing again. Misa turned away to let Suki take charge of the back pounding and comforting words. She dropped her voice conspiratorially. “Nothing will come between us and Suki. No man in the world. I know that. I think he knows that. Now it’s just up to Suki to figure that out so she doesn’t get so damn uptight.”

“Is that what’s going on?” Katara cocked her head to one side. “Why does she get so weird when I ask if she wants to date my brother?”

Misa grinned. “Suki set the no boys rule, back in high school when we started playing together. She didn’t want romance to become more important than music, you know? Didn’t want to Yoko us before we even got started.” She glanced at Suki, tossing her long dark hair over her shoulder. “But then Yori and I started going out and I don’t think Nanase even knows human beings exist outside of the guy who sold her bass number six. So now it’s just Suki with her rule and I don’t think she’s ready to break it yet.”

“No boys at  _ all _ ?” Katara put a hand to her mouth. “Like — ?“

“Well she’s not a  _ virgin _ , if that’s what you’re asking.” Misa laughed. “She just doesn’t date.”

Katara looked at her friend with new eyes. “She seems so knowledgeable.”

“She is.” Misa clinked her glass against Katara’s, bringing her attention back to the undrunk tequila. “I mean, don’t ask her to plan your wedding or whatever, but you know...she knows how to be smart about dudes.”

From the shit Suki gave her, she believed this was a skill Katara lacked. The thought made Katara’s mouth instinctively pucker up.

“What about you, Skinny Jeans?” Misa cocked her head at Zuko. “What do you know about relationships?”

“Don’t date your sister’s friends,” said Zuko.

“Smart man.” Misa hefted her shot glass and Katara raised hers to her mouth. “Bottoms up,” Misa said, and all three of them knocked back the shot.

Katara liked tequila on the way down. It was the way up she knew would be rough.

When she dropped her head again, she caught sight of Haru on the other side of the room, waving. Wincing, she looked away, stepping behind Sokka to break the line of sight. Haru was nice...great...really sweet...and kept trying to kiss her. Just because it had happened once…

When she turned to say something about it to Zuko, he was gone. She peered around, trying to find him over the heads of the party-goers, but he was nowhere to be found. Katara rolled her eyes. She shouldn’t be surprised about him ghosting. He clearly hadn’t liked being here to begin with. Maybe he’d left.

When she turned back, Haru appeared next to her elbow. Katara jumped.

“Hey!” Haru hugged her and she patted him on the shoulder, hoping he’d let go soon. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Haru or anything, just that he got a little clingy. Boys were like that, Katara found, if you gave them too much attention.

“Hey, Haru.” Katara pulled away. “Nice to see you again. Thanks so much for manning our table, that was super good of you to do.”

“No problem at all.” Haru smoothed the tiny wispy mustache he wore with his thumb and forefinger. “Anything to help you guys out, you know that. How have you been?”

“Fine.” Katara looked down into her shot glass and put it down on a nearby end table. “Everything’s great. Obviously.” She waved her hand around the party as though to indicate her happiness. “It’s really crazy, huh?”

“It sure is.” Haru leaned against the back of a sagging chair. “You know, when I first met you and Sokka, I thought you were cool, but I never figured I’d end up at parties with Kyoshi.”

“Oh, so we’re not good enough for you?” Katara raised an eyebrow.

“No!” Haru’s casual lean became a casual fall, and he managed to catch himself, though with some difficulty. “No, jeez Katara, come on.”

She smiled. “I’m making fun of you. Truth be told, I never thought I’d be hanging with Kyoshi either. But thanks for sticking with us, man. I know Sokka really loves having you around.”

She’d meant it as a pointed note that she was ambivalent about it, but the second it came out of her mouth, she winced. No, that sounded more like she was trying her best to tell him that she liked him being around without actually coming out and saying it. Stupid Katara. Stupid boys and their stupid crushes and their stupid puppy dog eyes.

Haru grinned; he’d definitely taken it the wrong way. “Yeah, I like being around.”

Katara considered escape options.

Thankfully, like her guardian angel, Suki popped up out of nowhere, dragging Sokka behind her. “Hey, little sister,” Sokka said, tossing an arm over Katara’s shoulders. His Solo cup dribbled pale beer down her arm.

“Gross.” She shoved him off, eyes going to the way his hand bumped against Suki’s every thirty seconds or so. And how Suki didn’t pull away. Katara smiled. “What’s up?”

“Brought you this.” Suki pressed a fresh shot into her hands. “Hey, Haru. Sorry, none for you, but Misa’s got the rest of the bottle over there if you want some.”

Haru said something in response, but Katara turned her attention back to the golden tequila shot in her hand.

“I’m already at a full drink plus a shot,” she told Suki, looking up to meet Suki’s overcast eyes. “You know I can’t hold that much tequila.”  
“Woman up,” Suki said.

“I’m going to  _ throw _ up.”

“For me then.” Sokka pulled the other shot from Suki’s fingers, grinning broadly, and tapped it against Katara’s knuckles. “Come on, baby sister, don’t be so wussy. When’s the next time we’re going to get to celebrate playing at Moon Fish for the the first time ever again?”

“By definition,” Katara said, “never.”

“My point exactly.”

Katara took a quick inventory of her own drunkenness. Fingers: Stiff but not tingly. Reaction time: slowed. Grace: still going strong. Stomach: fine and dandy. Head: pleasantly fuzzy. She could take this shot and not make a total ass of herself...probably. Sixty percent chance everything would be fine.

She knocked it back before Sokka could even react. Suki whooped and high fived her. “I’ll get you another,” she said, fingers brushing Sokka’s arm as she turned.

“I’m going to marry that girl,” Sokka said, and downed his own shot.

Despite her calculations, Katara lost track of the evening from there on out. Her mind disintegrated into small fragments of memory, impossible to string together, simply existing …

… Suki stood in the middle of the living room, bent over an acoustic guitar, and busted off one of the most impressive metal guitar solos Katara had ever heard. Beside her, Sokka’s hand tightened on Katara’s shoulder, his mouth open in shock and something like divine worship. Poor Sokka, Katara thought. He was so into that girl, and she could kick his ass with one foot tied behind her back …

… Toph stared at Katara over the rim of a chipped glass half-full of whisky; at least, her stare was as close to Katara as her blind eyes could manage. Hair fell into her seafoam pale eyes, and when the stray bangs brushed her cheekbones, she blew it out of the way.

Her mouth twisted into a smirk. “You’re gonna get yourself into some trouble, babe,” she said.

“Why would I?” Katara blinked slowly, unsure of what sort of trouble Toph meant.

Toph’s smile expanded, like a cat’s. “I just know you. I know how you work, you know? Don’t worry.” She took a swig of her whiskey. “I’m sure you’ll work it out.”

Katara couldn’t remember what she said next …

… Aang’s high, clear voice echoed across the room over silent heads, conversations going quiet. He stood with his eyes closed, hands clasped before him like a child. The song was something old, not one of Avatar’s tunes. An aria, Katara thought. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes…

...Her face pressed against cloth over hard muscle. Her hand was raised over her head at an awkward angle, her fingers resting on something hard and warm. Strong arms wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her tight.

“God, you’re beautiful,” whispered a rough voice into her hair.

Warmth filled her, pouring down her back and neck, pooling in her belly. She leaned back. Golden light shone on a sharp jawbone above her.

She said a name, but couldn’t remember what it was.

Then, nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry but not sorry about my favorite writing trope: do a thing in vague strokes and confuse my audience. Good times.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand here's the stunning conclusion to last chapter (but not the story!)

As soon as he was able, Zuko snuck away from Katara, losing himself in the crowd. He didn’t like parties usually, but none of the parties he was familiar with were as tame as this one. Azula’s parties involved a lot of drugs, even more alcohol, and someone getting punched. The usual. Here, people just talked to each other — loudly, sure, but still just talking. They drank things out of stereotypical cups and laughed more than Zuko had ever heard anyone laugh at a party in his life.

The Kyoshi house had a charm to it, which Zuko thought probably wasn’t Suki’s doing, but that charm was tempered by the band posters, instruments, and a shocking number of leather jackets. 

As soon as he got away from Katara and her tequila shots, Toph sidled up to him, somehow knowing who and where he was without being able to see him. “Hey, Zuko,” she said, tossing her hair back. It seemed even more wild today, though maybe that was because of the overly-wide smile.

“Hey, Toph.” Zuko looked away, into the cup of pale beer he’d snagged from the counter. “What’s up?”

Toph shrugged. She scanned over the crowd, head cocked, listening rather than looking. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Zuko’s eyebrows turned down. Confusion washed over him. “Why? Do I not look okay?”

“I dunno what you look like, but you sound uncomfortable.” Toph sighed. “So like, is this not your scene? You need something? I can get you something if you need it.”

“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about and I don’t want you to enlighten me,” Zuko said, unable to stop himself from smiling. He had no doubt that Toph probably  _ could _ get him anything — despite Katara being obsessed with protecting Toph’s non-existent childhood — but he didn’t actually want anything for this party. Sure, previous parties with his sister he’d costed through on a foggy cloud of depressants, but not here. He wanted to be present.

Behind them, Suki whooped. Zuko turned, worried, but everyone was smiling. Katara’s scrunched face told him she’d managed another tequila shot, which was impressive.

He wasn’t used to people being this happy. 

Toph sniggered, a sound too low in her throat to bring Zuko any kind of comfort. “It’s nice to see someone in the band who isn’t desperate for attention.”

“You think the others are desperate?”

Toph shrugged. “Katara is, probably. Either that or she’s just one of those people who pushes their way into everyone else’s life without being asked.” Toph cocked her head. “Yeah, that was one sounds more correct. Probably that. But Sokka  _ really _ is. He likes attention, and I really can’t blame him. Unless he’s on stage. Than he wants nothing to do with it.”

Zuko nodded. Sokka spent most of his time on stage looking down at his bass, sometimes half-turning away from the audience. Anywhere else, Sokka was willing to hop on a table and sing a few bars of something he didn’t know a few bars of. But not while he was playing.

“I agree,” he said, realizing Toph couldn’t see him nodding.

Toph laughed. “ _ I agree _ ,” she mimicked. “Chill out, man, you can just say ‘yeah’ if you want. This isn’t the royal court or anything.”

Zuko rolled his eyes, and didn’t bother telling her he was doing it. “And Aang?”

“ _ Lives _ for attention.” Toph shook her head. “Not in an offensive way. But definitely in an awkward nerd one. He’s usually pretty chill, so I don’t think people notice it as much as they would with Sokka, but yeah, Aang likes to be in the middle of things.”

Zuko opened his mouth to reply, but a small commotion over Toph’s shoulder drew his attention. The skinny, dark-haired man who had run their merchandise table at the show had taken Katara by the wrist, and she was trying to extricate herself, smiling all the while. She twisted her trapped hand back and forth in the man’s grip, while her free hand pressed against his forearm.

“Excuse me,” said Zuko, getting up and dodging around Toph. He came up behind Katara, tilting his head so his hair fell over the undamaged side of his face, an unusual maneuver but one he knew upset people. “Is there a problem here?” he asked.

The man — Haru, Zuko recalled — let go of Katara’s wrist and stepped back. “Oh. Um, no?” His eyes narrowed. “Why would there be?”  
Katara took a tiny step back. “Don’t worry, Zuko,” she said, smile still in place. “We were just talking.”

On the surface, her words were sweet, gentle, and non-threatening, but there was a steel beneath them, making them more of a reminder to Haru than an explanation. Zuko felt a little smile building in the muscles of his cheek and squashed it down. It would be easy to smile at her, but it would ruin the “asshole punker” look he had going and he didn’t want Haru to think he was out of the woods yet.

Katara sent a little glare up at him. “I had it,” she muttered.

“I know.”

The smile she gave him didn’t reach her eyes, just like the ones she given Haru. “I’m going to get another drink.”

Zuko almost told her he didn’t think that was a good idea, given the number of tequila shots she’d had, but not only would she not appreciate it, it wasn’t any of his business. So he clamped his teeth down on the words and just waited until she sashayed away, nose stuck in the air.

As soon as she was out of hearing range, Haru rounded on Zuko, tiny mustache quivering. “I had dibs,” he hissed. “You don’t get to move in on her.”

Zuko rolled his eyes. “I don’t want her,” he growled. “And besides, you can’t call dibs on a chick. That’s messed up, man.” Azula may have been the worst, but growing up with her and her lady friends had forced him out of a lot of terrible relationship habits. Sure, he’d had his teenage jealousies, but after he’d screeched at some dude talking to Mai at a party, tiny, delicate Ty Lee had given him such a lecture on women’s rights and the true meaning of respect that he’d never done it again.

That didn’t mean he was going to let anyone else get away with teenage jealousies.

“Besides,” Zuko added, “I’m pretty sure I’m not the one you wanna be worried about.”

Together, both he and Haru glanced to the other side of the room, where Aang stood half a head over everyone else, chatting amiably but keeping one eye fixed on Katara’s progress to the kitchen.

Haru’s shoulders sank. “I guess you’re right.” He peered into his beer. “I think I’ve had too much of this. She’s just...so great, you know? Katara.”

“If you say so,” Zuko said.

The strum of a guitar wound its way through the party and Zuko sighed. It was that part of the evening at every musician gathering where the singing started. He sighed and melted back to his corner. Toph had gone, leaving it empty and mostly quiet. Zuko didn’t want to play anything tonight. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to listen. Maybe it was time to head home.

After twenty minutes of people singing and playing — not bad, obviously, not in this house, but still — he was ready to do just that. His feet hurt. His head hurt too, probably from the noise of the show. He put his beer down on an end table and rolled his shoulder back, cracking it. Which way was the door again?

Conversation, which hadn’t ended while people played, picked up a little. Laughter echoed close to him. Zuko turned, just in time to catch Katara as she fell against him. In the semi-darkness of his corner, her eyes glowed like the ocean as she turned her face up towards his.

His throat closed up.

He expected her to push away but she didn’t, just clung to him. Her sudden arrival had thrust him away from the main body of the party, and into a little alcove by a bedroom door. Diffuse light reflected of Katara’s loose, shining hair.

Zuko leaned back against the wall, trying to slip away from Katara. Any second, she was going to start yelling and Zuko didn’t want to get screamed at. But she didn’t. Instead, she smiled.

“Hi, Zuzu!” she said, giggling.

Zuko sighed. “I wish you’d never met Azula.”

Katara’s eyebrows pulled tight. “Oh. Yeah, me too. She’s a bitch, with a capital B.”

She was drunk. In fact, Zuko was willing to bet that she was more drunk than she was used to, for the second time in recent memory. Two shots of something she’d specifically said she couldn’t hold, plus who knew how much of the dangerously sweet punch. Just what he needed right now. An annoying drunk girl. Great.

Her hands settled on his biceps, tightening just enough that he could feel the pressure through the leather of his jacket. Heat warmed his arms beneath her palms, almost burning. Zuko pursed his lips. She couldn’t be that warm, could she? What was going on?

She smiled up at him again. He’d seen that thousand watt smile before, sure, but it had never been directed at him. It was like the sun coming out. The warmth expanded throughout his body making him feel giddy and intoxicated beyond a few beers.

Katara blinked. Her long dark lashes brushed her cheek and Zuko almost raised his hand to brush a thumb along her jawline.

His throat contracted further.

Oh.

Oh, no.

He looked away.

“Why are you always so mean to me?” Katara demanded. Despite the smile falling from her face, she didn’t pull away. The heat in Zuko’s chest only increased.

He swallowed. “Me? Mean to you?”

Katara nodded, with the seriousness that only vast amounts of alcohol could grant her. “You’ve been mean to me since the first time I met you.”

“You were mean to me first.”

“Was not.” Katara stuck her bottom lip out. Zuko stared at it, unable to pull his gaze away. “I as at your show. Well, no, not your show. Your sister’s show. A long time ago.”

“Uh…” 

Katara stuck her finger into the middle of his chest. “Yeah, you were there. You made fun of me. You and Azula, like a couple of...couple of jerks.”

Oh god, Zuko remembered now. He remembered Katara at the bar, tapping a foot in rhythm, curls bouncing. He remembered later on when Azula had cornered her, pulled her hair from behind, and the girls had laughed. Katara had spat something unpleasant. Zuko…

Zuko told her to shut her fat mouth.

He wasn’t sure what to do. Make excuses? He’d been different then, angrier, still under Azula’s spell, still looking for his father’s love, and opportunities. Or he could tell her she was wrong...lie to her…

He dropped his head. “I’m really fucking sorry, Katara.”

Katara giggled. She raised her hand and patted his shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re a meanie.”

“I am not!”

Katara’s hand bumped against his. She grabbed his wrist, then her fingers slid down his arm. He turned his hand. For a second, their fingers twined. Then he pulled away.

Katara blinked. Zuko was sure she didn’t even know what she’d done. Her hand came up, hesitated in mid air, and then she reached for his face. 

For his scar.

He caught her hand, turning away. “Don’t.”

Her eyes locked on his face, wide and innocent. She didn’t look scared. “Does it hurt?”

He shook his head, watching her only out of the corner of his eye. “No...just...you shouldn’t. Shouldn’t have to…”

Katara pulled her hand from his grasp and reached forward, resting her hand on his cheek. He could barely feel it, what with all the nerve damage, but his heart scaled up. None of the girls he’d hooked up with in in his singlehood since the fire had really looked at his scar, much less touched it.

Katara’s fingers brushed against the corner of his mouth.

“I like your scar,” she said.

Zuko laughed and pulled away. “Look, don’t lie to me. No one  _ likes _ it. It’s not pretty.”

Katara’s shoulders went up, defensive. “I like it, okay?”

“You’re drunk.”

“Yes, I am.” Katara threw her head back. “That doesn’t mean I’m lying, you ass.”

Zuko stared at her for a second, then reached out, wrapped his hands around her arms, and pulled her against him. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and buried his face in her hair. It smelled of the sea. Her hands clenched against his chest. 

“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered.

Katara pulled back, staring up at him. Her mouth was very close to his. “Zuko,” she murmured.

He could kiss her now. God, he wanted to. But she was drunk and he didn’t want her to hate him and he didn’t want her to hate herself. He couldn’t do that to her. He hadn’t even had time to think about his feelings about this...about her. It had just all smashed into him all of a sudden wave of lust and realization.

She licked her lips, still watching him.

Zuko groaned and dropped his head back, smacking his skull into the wall. “Come on, Katara, let’s get you to your brother. He’ll get you to bed.”

“What?” Katara’s hands clasped on his jacket again. The heat was almost too much to bear. But to his relief, she released him slowly and stepped away, wavering on her feet. “Okay, yeah, sounds good.”

She was much more pliant drunk than she was sober.

Keeping his hands pressed against her arms, Zuko frog-marched her over to Sokka, made his excuses, and left the party. The cold night air cooled his skin, finally, and he thought his breathing and heart rate may have returned to acceptable levels. His stomach, though, made no such promises and continued to boil.

He got into his car but didn’t turn the key, resting his head against the steering wheel. The ridges and bumps of plastic dug into his forehead. Maybe he was drunk. Maybe all this stupidity would pass in the morning. Or maybe he was going crazy, that could explain it.

He closed his eyes.

She smelled like salt and open skies.

Zuko opened his heads again and drew his head back just enough to thunk it into the steering wheel again. Dull pain echoed through his skull, but it didn’t dislodge his stupid brain from thinking about the way Katara’s hair shone, and how much he wanted to run his fingers through it.

Growling, he sat up and turned the car on. A flick of fingers spun the volume knob to a nearly deafening levels. Isaac Brock’s warbling, melancholic guitar roared through the car.

Zuko drove too fast on the way home, dodging in and out of very late night traffic and flipping off anyone who honked at him. He skidded into his parking spot, almost crashing into the building in the process, and slammed the car door behind him.

After four attempts, he managed to get the key into the lock, and smashed open his apartment door, kicking it back into the frame behind him so hard the building shook. He yanked off his boots, threw them into the corner, and stomped off to bed, falling onto the mattress as though he was going to fight his way to sleep.

But of course, he couldn’t. Instead, he lay awake for hours, staring at his ceiling, and wondering how long he’d wanted to kiss Katara, because it was as surprising to him as it would have been to anyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't necessarily think Haru is ever portrayed as the jealous type, but I enjoy playing up the "everyone loves Katara" thing from the show because I find it really funny. Also I've interacted with drunk men and they are very emotionally needy and really jealous and basically the worst.
> 
> Also I'm working on a playlist and some more art for this because apparently band fanfics are taking over my life. Thanks for everyone for supporting my madness, you're all the best.


	18. Chapter 18

Because Katara had a headache and sound felt like getting punched in the ears, she rose slowly. Her bed was a mess. She’d slept on top of the blankets, but thankfully hadn’t vomited on them. In fact, she didn’t remember throwing up at all, though the party was very,  _ very _ hazy…

Unfortunately, thinking about puking made it a reality. Katara slammed out of her bedroom and into the bathroom, probably waking Sokka up in the process. She got to the toilet in time to retch into the bowl, bringing up nothing but bile. Her throat burned.

Footsteps behind her told her Sokka had indeed woken. “Damn it,” he said, and vanished into the small kitchen, returning a moment later with a glass of water. “Here. Did you get it in your hair again?”

Katara shook her head, but pulled her thick, tangled hair away from her face anyway, just in case. “Not enough in my stomach to get in my hair,” she said, accepting the water from Sokka. “Thanks.”

“Drink slow.” Sokka hunkered down next to her. “I don’t wanna clean stomach water off the floor. How you feeling?”

Katara glared at him.

Sokka laughed. “Okay, fair enough.”

“Why don’t you look like total shit?”

Sokka preened. “Because I’m a mature adult.”

“You’re still drunk, aren’t you.”

“Oh, absolutely.” Sokka grinned at her, a sideways, sloppy smile that never failed to make her feel a little better. Even when her stomach wanted to kill her.

“Slow sips,” Sokka reminded her, putting a finger on the rim of the glass. “Be careful.”

Rolling her eyes, Katara complied. “What time is it?”

Sokka shrugged. “Maybe seven-thirty?”

Katara groaned. She couldn’t have gotten more than four hours of sleep, if that. No wonder she felt like she wanted to die. “What happened? I sort of blacked out towards the end.”

“I’m not surprised.” Sokka dropped back onto his butt, leaning against the sink cabinet. His hair, loose around his face, gave him a dopey sort look, like the stupidest member of a pop boy band. “Suki got super pushy about the tequila. I lost track of you for a little while —”

“Did Suki distract you?” Katra pushed herself up a little, pulling her knees up to her chest. The light filtering through the frosted glass window hurt her skull, but at least Sokka hadn’t turned on the overhead. “Did you two make out yet?”

“How about you shut the hell up?”

Katara cocked her head. Her hair got in her eyes so she gathered it all over her left shoulder and set to braiding it out of her way. “Is that a yes or a no?”

“It’s a none of your business,” Sokka said, but he wasn’t smiling — Katara knew her brother well enough to know he wouldn’t have been able to keep this to himself. Shaking his head, Sokka raised an eyebrow at her. “Anyway, you were definitely picking a fight with Zuko or something because he made me take you home. He looked  _ pissed _ . I thought you two were doing better.”

“What do you mean ‘doing better’?”

Sokka waved a hand. “You know, not trying to kill each other one-hundred percent of the time. Just like, maybe sixty percent.”

Katara had to give him that. After Zuko had talked her down about his crazy sister at the show, she couldn’t say she really  _ hated _ him anymore. He just annoyed her.

“I’m going to throw up again,” she said matter-of-factly. “And them I’m going to shower. You should go.”

“Roger that.” Sokka patted her back and left, closing the door right before the half-glass of water came back up. 

After getting rid of whatever was upsetting her stomach — probably leftover tequila — Katara felt well enough to get up and brush her teeth. Unfortunately, that allowed her to get a look at her smeared makeup and wild hair, so she immediately turned the shower on and stepped in. She kept the tap in the middle, at vaguely lukewarm, preferring to keep cool in what promised to be another warm, and likely sticky day.

Once her hair fell back into place, the loose curls plastered with water to Katara’s neck and back, she turned off the shower head and stood in the tiny tiled enclosure for a minute, quietly dripping. She could have stayed in that silence all day and just ignored whatever else she might have to do, but no, that wasn’t the  _ adult _ thing to do. Like work, probably.

So she got out of the shower, dried her hair, brushed her teeth again just to be sure, and went to get dressed. Halfway into her clothes, she noticed the lit screen of her phone and, against her better judgement, went to go investigate.

The latest text was from Haru and simply read, “ _ I’m really sorry about last night _ .”

“Oh, shit,” Katara said aloud to the empty room.

As she watched, another text appeared on the lock screen, popping into existence like a soap bubble of bad implications.  _ “Tell Zuko I don’t wanna step on his toes or anything. That dude is scary.” _

Double shit. What had Zuko done to Haru? And more importantly, why?

She texted back, “ _ It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. _ ” Despite not knowing what had happened at all, it was easier to just forgive him for it. 

She braided her hair out of her face and looked in the mirror. The hangover left her cheeks pale and her eyes deep set, but she still managed to look kinda hot, albeit in a ghostly sort of way. Not that she was worried about looking hot, because she was going to go to Zuko’s dorky tea shop and get some light-hurts-my-brain juice.

Despite her darkest sunglasses, the glare of the sun still made her want to die, but Katara managed to make it to her car, and then all the way to the Jasmine Dragon without either passing out or causing a major accident. She parked out front on the street, fed four quarters into the meter, and pushed open the door.

There was a line, but she walked past it and settled herself at the unofficial counter spot Zuko had pointed her to the last time she was here. He was busy, his back to her, pouring out a tea so dark it was almost black into a paper cup. The black apron he wore over his band shirt and jeans was flecked with loose leaves over the left thigh, as though he had absentmindedly wiped them there. The smell of oolong and rooibos filled the air.

When Zuko turned back to his brewing teapots, he caught sight of Katara. Immediately, his one remaining eyebrow slammed down into a hard glare and he turned away quickly, putting his back to her as he took another order.

Katara pushed her sunglasses up onto her head, staring at him. She thought they were past this. What was his problem today?

What had she done to him yesterday?

Panic seeping into her belly, she pulled her phone out and checked her messages again, but there was nothing from Haru clearing up her worries, or from Toph or Suki which probably would have added to them. Maybe she could ask Suki, actually. That wasn’t a bad idea. She pulled her phone out, holding it above her knee under the counter.

“ _ Hey, girl, _ ” she tapped out, “ _ what the hell happened last night? _ ”

There was no immediate answer, which was to be expected. Katara put her phone down on the counter and stared at Zuko, willing him to look at her. From the way his shoulders rose defensively, she knew he knew she was watching. But he didn’t turn to look at her. His good ear turned bright pink.

When the line finally dwindled to nothing, Zuko poured out one last cup of tea, dropped a handful of ice into it, and put it in front of her without looking at her or saying anything at all.

“Thanks,” Katara said wryly, putting her elbows on either side of the hangover tea. “What’s wrong with you?”  
“Nothing.” Zuko started cleaning the counter beneath his small steeping pots. “What are you doing here?”

“Getting tea.” Katara leaned her chin in her hand. “Obviously.”

“Why?”

“What’s with the interrogation?”

“Nevermind,” Zuko said, and started reorganizing jars of tea, putting them back in exactly the same places he took them from.

“So, Haru says he’s sorry,” Katara said.

Zuko stiffened, his shoulders tensing. His knuckles went white against the edge of the counter. In a stark contrast, his entire face turned steadily more red, darkest in his cheeks but spreading across his jaw and down his neck like an unsightly rash.

After a moment of watching him, until his hands started to shake against the counter, Katara said, “I have no idea what he did to require an apology. I don’t really remember much about that party. I think I blacked out after all the tequila.”

Zuko’s shaking stilled. His hands clenched once more against the counter than loosened. Something strange — disappointment, maybe? — flashed across his face, but his features cleared into his usual stoic semi-annoyance. He looked at her over his shoulder. “You don't remember?”

“Nope.” Katara shook her head, regretted it, winced, and drank her tea.

Zuko cleared his throat. He reached for a glass of water sitting beside the teapots and took a long drink from it, only putting it down once it was empty. “Good,” he said, voice even huskier than usual. “That’s good. Nothing happened.”

Katara’s eyes narrowed as she studied Zuko’s carefully neutral expression, which was almost completely destroyed by his still crimson face.

“You’re not a great liar.”

“So I’ve been told.” Zuko braced himself on the counter. Muscles stood out in his shoulders and forearms. “Haru made an ass of himself and I told him to leave you alone. That’s all, okay? It’s not a big deal.”

Before Katara could respond, her phone buzzed. Distracted, she looked down, eyebrows rising at Suki’s response:  _ Did Zuko really punch Haru in the face? I didn’t see it but Misa said that Yori told her… _

Startled, and worried, Katara opened the text to read the rest of what Suki had written. It was a long one.

_ … Haru tried to get it on with you and Zuko broke his jaw or something. What’s going on? Do you not remember anything? Are you okay? Did you talk to Zuko? What did Haru do? I need to know these answers, it’s really important to me. A matter of life and death. But for the record, no, I didn’t see you much until Sokka took you home so I’m not sure what happened. Also I need to go throw up. _

Well, that brought more questions than answers. Katara held her phone up in front of her face and peered over the top of it at Zuko. “Suki says you punched Haru to defend my honor.”

“One, that’s ridiculous.” Zuko pushed himself off the counter. “I don’t put a lot of stock in honor.”

Katara raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“And two, more importantly, I didn’t punch Haru.” Zuko shook his head. The conversation paused briefly as he took an order for a middle aged woman’s Oolong, and Zuko fished down the correct jar. “Tell Suki she’s being over dramatic,” he said as he spooned the tea into a clean pot.

“So you don’t go around just punching people?”

“Of course not.” Zuko rolled his eyes. “Especially not for girls who are perfectly capable of taking care of herself.”

“Then what  _ did _ you do?”

“Why are you so insistent about this?”

Katara leaned forward, resting her belly against the counter. “Because I don’t remember. I don’t like not knowing things that happened to me. It makes me feel unhappy and powerless. So your job is to fill me in on what I may or may not have done. And also what you did.”

Zuko sighed. “Haru had a little too much and got handsy. I loomed. He backed off.” His ears were still bright red. “I didn’t punch him. Now would you shut the hell up?”

“No need to get testy.”

Zuko poured the oolong, his hands steady on the cup and pot despite the steam issuing from its stem. “I am not getting testy,” he growled. “Don’t be such a stuck up little —” He broke off before he could finish, handed the tea over to the waiting customer, and came over to her to lean over the counter in front of her. Katara swallowed. Usually, Zuko stayed out of her space, and rarely if ever looked at her, but now he leaned down to meet her gaze. His mismatched eyes, honey gold in this light, locked on hers.

“Nothing happened,” he said, voice low and solid.

All Katara could do was nod.

“Cool.” He pushed himself back and went to rinse out his recently used steeping pot. “How’s your head?”

“It’s actually pretty okay. I threw up this morning though.”

“Not something you needed to tell me, actually.” Zuko’s mouth quirked up at the corner despite it. He dumped used tea leaves into the trash bin beneath the counter. “Tequila is your kryptonite, huh? Why do you keep drinking it?”

“Girls keep handing it to me.”

Zuko snorted.

Katara leaned on her elbows. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

Zuko’s face, which had just lightened again to its usual pale ivory, immediately flooded red again. “I’m not doing anything for you,” he growled. “It’s just some tea. I don’t take care of people. It’s not…”

“What, is it not punk enough for you?” Katara laughed. “Sorry I’m ruining your reputation.” The boy was wearing Doc Martens to work in a coffee shop, Katara thought, shaking her head. He was ninety percent bad reputation. A tiny dash of niceness wasn’t going to change that.

She collected her tea. “I should probably try to get to work. Not that I’m sure I’ll be able to handle it, but I don’t want to call out for a hangover. That’s so unprofessional.”

“Sure.” Zuko’s face was still red. “Have fun.” He snagged a plastic lid from a stack and handed it to her. “Feel better or whatever.”

Katara shook her head and grinned. “So I’ll see you at practice tonight?”

Zuko grunted, which she took as a yes. She gave him a little four-fingered wave, which he of course didn’t return, and sashayed out of the coffee shop, wondering what exactly had crawled up Zuko’s ass and died today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I did think that honor joke was pretty funny. Sue me.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait. I'll try to get more up before November when I may be swamped with other writing projects. But I haven't forgotten about this glorious escapism.

This time after practice, Zuko and Toph were cajoled into driving the half-mile from the practice room to Sokka and Katara’s apartment. There wasn’t any cajoling for Aang; Zuko thought if they’d tried to stop him, Aang would have cried. At the invite, his whole round face lit up like the sun.

Despite being in the same band with them for going on three months now, Zuko had never seen the siblings’ apartment. Pulling up to it, he realized it was what he’d expected; a small but cozy upstairs unit in an old wooden house in a neighborhood of college students and starving artists. Toph casually took Zuko’s arm as he held the door for her so he could lead her up the stairs, something she did only when she knew she might fall and die, or if she wanted to go quickly.

Zuko stopped himself from smiling. It was really nice that she trusted him enough. He wasn’t used to being trusted.

“Don’t eat any of the weird stuff they’ll offer you,” Toph muttered.

“What?”

She rolled her eyes as they carefully navigated a landing lined with faded wallpaper, peeling only in the corners. Zuko put a hand on the heavy wooden banister to keep his balance. 

Toph said, “Have you seen the shit Katara puts in her mouth?”

Zuko had a sudden incredibly inappropriate mental image and beat it back down. “I dunno, I haven’t really paid attention to her eating habits.”

“Seaweed.” Toph shuddered. “So much seaweed. She’s always got a ton of it in the fridge, stockpiled against a rainy day. I think she’s personally responsible for the death of  _ at least _ one kelp forest.”

Zuko grinned. “I did notice she doesn’t like anything spicy.”

“So you  _ did _ notice what she eats.” Toph’s lopsided smile was hard to read. Zuko didn’t like it. “Just be careful. She’ll try to poison you with weird ocean food.”

“You know I can hear you,” Katara said from the top of the stairs.

“No, I thought you’d suddenly gone deaf,” Toph said.

Katara muttered something, likely unflattering. She waited by the door until Zuko and Toph reached the top. Toph stopped and bit her lip, staring at nothing. 

“There’s something I was supposed to tell you,” she said, turning in Katara’s direction.

“What?”

“Don’t remember.” Toph shook her head and shrugged. “Guess it wasn’t important.”

Katara raised a single eyebrow at Zuko as he escorted Toph past her into the apartment itself.

“Want something to drink?” she asked, closing the door behind him.

“Tequila,” Toph said.

Katara’s cheeks flared red. “You know, someday I’m going to punch you right in the mouth,” she threatened.

“I’ll get some water then.” Toph readjusted her cane so she could make her own way across the living room and into the attached kitchen, free hand skimming along the rim of the counter.

Zuko looked around. There was something of a clash of civilization going on in the apartment; heavily beaded wall hangings  draped half over alt-rock band posters; thick braided rugs covered the wood floors but also played host to a small pile of socks beside the blue couch; yellowed bone carvings of penguin otters, tiger seals, and some kind of whale lined the edge of the bookshelf.

It was the carvings that caught his eye. He crossed the room to examine them more closely. Although some were certainly made of bone, others appeared to be carved from some dark rock, the edges soft and rounded. They weren’t exactly likenesses, but didn’t have the overly intricate carving techniques of the family heirlooms his father had kept in his office. These were simple, elegant, with a flow and form that captured the leap of the penguin otter, the twist of the whale’s spine.

“You like them?”

Zuko spun. 

Katara stood beside him and slightly behind, grinning. “They’re my Gran-Gran’s,” she explained. “She gave them to me when Sokka and I moved away from home so we’d always have something of the south to remind us where we came from.”

“Do you see your family often?” Zuko asked.

Katara shrugged, eyes darkening like a stormy sea. “Not really. It’s a long trip and we don’t have the money.”

“Do you miss it?”

Now she smiled, though her eyes retained that far away look. “Every day.”

Zuko wanted to put his arms around her and try to pull the sadness from her eyes, but one, that would be super weird, and two, he understood that melancholy and how sweetly it stung.

“They’re beautiful,” he said instead, keeping his gaze focused on the whale.

“Yeah.” Katara grinned. “Let me get you a beer.”

Zuko nodded. He leaned against the wall as Katara slid into the kitchen past Toph, brushing her fingers against Toph’s shoulder on the way and saying something quiet. Toph laughed and stepped away from the fridge.

“You okay, man?”

Zuko jumped — the second time someone had snuck up on him in the last five minutes — and turned to find Aang peering at him like a large, nearsighted crane. Zuko’s heartbeat ratcheted up a couple notches and he tried to stop thinking about Katara in any way, shape or form, just in case Aang heard his thoughts.

But there was no anger in Aang’s clear face, just concern. “Are you spacing out?”

“Yeah. Must be.” Zuko shook himself. After their little heart to heart before the last show, Aang seemed to look at Zuko as some sort of spiritual guide. Unfortunately, that meant Zuko absolutely could not let Aang know about his sneaky feelings regarding Katara.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” asked Aang.

“Yeah, sorry.” Zuko forced himself to relax and leaned back up against the wall. “I guess I’m just a little on edge.” He looked Aang up and down. “How you doing anyway?”

Aang’s pale eyes flicked to Katara, then back. He gave a tiny grin and a miniscule shrug. “Fine. No change.”

Zuko raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t expecting anything sudden. It’s not the kind of thing that just happens overnight.”

A lie. Apparently.

“What doesn’t happen overnight?” Katara came back to them, bearing two beers. One she handed to Zuko and he took it carefully to avoid touching her fingers.

Aang’s cheeks turned pink.

“Guitar,” Zuko said smoothly. “Aang wanted to know how long I’d been playing.”

“Oh?” Katara grinned. “And how long?”

Zuko opened his mouth to tell her — nearly fifteen years — but suddenly Sokka rocketed off the couch towards a modest sound system set up under the television. “What kind of musician party is this, with no music?” he asked.

“Don’t put on that weird shit you like,” Toph said.

“ _ That weird shit _ is fantastic.” Sokka scowled at her and pulled out an aux cord, plugging it into a laptop which popped to life as he fiddled with it. Unlike Toph’s CD collection, Zuko saw no physical music here, not even hipster records. That shouldn’t have surprised him; both Sokka and Katara had a pop sensibility that lent itself more towards a digital collection. 

“No boy bands,” Toph insisted.

“No Icelandic screaming,” Sokka countered.

Katara’s mouth pulled out into a smile that sent unpleasant chills up Zuko’s spine. “Put on something we can dance to.”

“I don’t dance,” said Zuko and Toph at exactly the same time.

“You will.” Katara didn’t look at him, just raised the mouth of her beer bottle to her lips and let it rest there for a second before taking a sip. It was long enough for Zuko to get the full benefit and evil intent of that smile.

He wished he was anywhere else.

Nodding, Sokka scrolled through pages of albums, the square cover images mere flashes of color brightening the screen. Aang crossed the little living room to join him, leaning down to examine Sokka’s choices and engage in heated debate about two artists Zuko had never heard of.

“Why don’t you like to dance?” Katara asked. She took a seat in an overstuffed armchair set to one side and gestured for Zuko to sit on the arm of it, which would have been wide enough if he’d wanted to.

He didn’t. Instead, he stayed standing, changing his leaning from the corner of the room to a bookcase beside the chair. Sitting near her would have been too much for his already reeling emotions. Until he got everything back under his control, he didn’t want to give his hormones any chances to screw him over.

“It’s not that I don’t  _ like _ to dance,” Zuko said, although that was also true. “I just don’t.”

“Too good for it?”

“I’m not good.” He didn’t mind admitting it to her. “I’m really bad. And also I don’t like to embarrass myself.”

Sokka made his decision. He clicked a couple buttons and sat back, looking pleased with himself. As usual from his selections, it was something Zuko had never heard before, and he’d learned not to ask; not unless he wanted a half hour lecture from Sokka about the band’s entire discography. All he knew was it was bright, poppy electronica with a baby-voiced singer he could have sworn he’d heard before.

“But I like embarrassing you,” Katara said.

Zuko either didn’t like the sound of that at all, or he liked it too much. It was hard to tell.

She held out her hand. “Come on. I’ll teach you.”

“You?” Zuko snorted.

Behind Katara, Sokka broke into a wild, arm swinging dance. Toph, who’d settled into the corner of the couch, cocked her head, face twisting at the odd grunting Sokka made as he tried not to fall. Katara crossed her arms, trying not to look behind her, but Zuko couldn’t keep a straight face. The corner of his mouth twitched up.

“Then you can make sure you’re not going to be like Sokka,” Katara said loudly. “He never gets laid.”

Sokka stopped dancing. “Low blow.”

“But true,” Toph said. She brought her knees up and tucked her bare feet underneath her thighs. Thus composed, she settled back, leaning against the couch arm, eyes half lidded, clearly content to sit there all night.

“Come on.” Katara wrapped her hand around Zuko’s wrist and gave him a tug. “You  _ have to _ .”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Zuko said, but couldn’t make himself resist her tug. Her fingers on his skin sent tingling electricity along his arm, which he pointedly ignored.

Katara stepped in into the middle of the room, light on her feet against the braided rug. It took Zuko a moment to follow, his feet dragging, though his mind was a turmoil of uncertainty. Finally, she gave him a final, annoyed yank and he stumbled, which brought him into the middle of the living room.

“I’m terrible at this,” he said again, as though it was what he was supposed to say.

“Sure, okay.” Katara rolled her eyes. “Can you at least keep rhythm?”

“I hope so,” Zuko said dryly. “Otherwise I’m not a hell of a lot of use to you, am I?”

“Yeah, I’ve had a lot of guys say that,” Katara said, not quite looking at him. It took Zuko a second to register what she’d said, another to work out the veiled sex joke in it, and by the time he bothered to find it funny, Katara placed her hands on his chest and his brain shut down.

“At least move your feet,” she said.

Zuko turned his attention away from her, or from Aang and Sokka who were behind him — probably laughing. He focused on the music, the steady backbeat of the drums, the way the singer’s voice slammed through verses as though she had something to prove to them. He picked up the beat easily — of course — and followed that, trying to sway or move his feet or at least nod his head.

“You’re so stiff.” Katara grinned. “Here.” She took his hands and placed them on her hips, just below her waist. “Let me lead.”

Zuko nodded, unable to do much else.

She pulled him closer, though he refused to actually touch her with more than his hands. The muscles beneath his fingers swayed and shifted. Katara rolled her hips from side to side, watching his hands, not his face, for which he was eternally grateful.

“Good.” She nodded.

“Sokka, wasn’t there something I was supposed to tell you?” Toph asked. 

Zuko tuned her out. He was busy. He was trying his best.

“I dunno, now do I?” Sokka snorted. “So you probably didn't tell me.”

Zuko growled under his breath and tried to focus on the music as the song changed, but he couldn’t keep his mind on dancing. Not when Katara’s hips carved little circles in the air beneath his palms. Not when her curls smelled of unfamiliar flowers and fresh salt air. Not when he couldn’t think about anything but the way her chest rose and fell when she breathed, her hands spread against his shoulders.

“Hey, Katara, let me show him how it’s done.”

Zuko turned a little, not releasing Katara. Aang half rose from the couch, a smile on his mouth, but that protective gleam was back in his pale eyes. Zuko liked it even less when it was pointed in his direction.

“No! This is  _ my _ project.” Katara pulled Zuko closer. He’d been so distracted by Aang’s face that he’d relaxed his elbows, and Katara’s yank was all it took for him to stumble against her. She took a step back as his weight hit her, but he grabbed her and pulled her back to balance, gritting his teeth against the urge — the stupid, disrespectful, asshole urge — to dip her down to the floor and kiss her. 

Katara didn’t seem to notice any of his internal madness. “Thanks,” she said, laughing and pushing her hair out of her eyes. “Clumsy me.”

“Yeah,” Zuko grumbled, taking a step away from her, but she kept her grip on him.

There was a knock on the door.

“I’ll get it,” Sokka said, heaving himself off the couch. “You guys continue with Baby’s First Dance Lesson.”

“Who could it be?” Aang asked. His eyes still hadn’t left Zuko. “Everyone we know is here.”

“Probably Suki.” Katara said.

She tapped Zuko on the side of his neck, sending ripples of sensation down his chest. Which he chose to ignore. Because he was a mature and rational adult, not a teenager with no control of his libedo. 

“Zuko.” She tapped him again. “Focus.”

He stepped back towards her, considering his options. Play it safe. Keep away from her. Pretend he didn’t want run his hands through her cascades of hair, preferably while she wasn’t wearing anything else at all…

Or he could throw safety out the window just a little.

He slipped his hands down to her hips and pulled against her. Her tiny inhale of breath against his shoulder made his heart run twice as fast, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she wrapped her hands around the back of his neck.

“Good job,” she told him, though he couldn’t help but notice she kept her head down, refusing to look up at him. From here, her brown cheekbones looked rather rosey.

At least he wasn’t the only one.

Sokka swore.

Zuko’s head shot up and he instinctively pulled Katara flush against him. She let out a tiny yelp of surprise, her hands scraping against his skin as they pulled into fists. The music behind them faded into the background as Zuko followed Katara’s gaze down the hall to the open front door. He didn’t recognize the man in the doorway — lanky, with skin only a few shades lighter than Sokka’s and the crooked smile of a bartender at a bachelorette party. But from the way Katara’s nails suddenly sank into his skin through his t-shirt, she knew who it was.

The man looked past Sokka, leaning against the doorframe with one forearm. An unlit cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth. “Hey, Katara,” he said. His eyes slid over her, reach Zuko, narrowed, and went back to Katara. “Looking good.”

Katara’s teeth snapped shut. Zuko wondered if he should put himself between her and the door, or just get out of her way.

“Oh yeah,” Toph said, snapping her fingers. “ _ That’s _ what I meant to tell you. Guess who’s back in town?”

“Jet,” Katara growled. “Get the hell out of my house.”


	20. Chapter 20

Smiling that crooked, lazy smile that once had sent Katara’s heart into overtime, Jet stepped over the threshold and gave Sokka an easy punch on the arm. “Hey, man,” he said. “How’s it going?”

“Dude,” Sokka said, not a greeting, but a disappointed little whine that Katara knew was full of years of ups and downs with Jet’s bullshit. “What are you doing here?”

“Visiting.” Jet took another step into the room — every second without getting punched seemed to embolden him — and gave Katara that little once-over again. His eyes followed the line of her arm down and then up again to Zuko, who stood statue still, his hands still resting on his hips. “New friend?”

Zuko released Katara and took a step away, a big enough one that he practically jumped backwards, almost running into the couch. All Katara caught was a little tightening around his jaw to indicate worry, and then he sat down on the cushions as though he’d meant to do so all along.

“Ah,” Jet said. “Guess not.”

Katara turned fully to face him. The door was still open, Sokka holding it wide like an idiot. “Close the door, Sokka,” she told him.

Jet smirked.

“So when I beat the shit out of Jet, no one will see.”

The smirk wavered slightly, but stabilized. Katara bit the inside of her cheek. Her hands shook as she clenched them tight against her thighs. Adult and mature conflict resolution, she reminded herself. Punching Jet didn’t solve things, no matter how much he’d let her down in the past. The shittiest of shitty exes. 

But she really,  _ really _ wanted to hit him.

Movement caught the corner of her eye and she took her gaze off Jet for just a second. Aang stood slowly, the way an offended cat moved — shoulders squared to make himself look bigger, chin high. He was already taller than Jet, but the look on his face made even Katara feel like he was too big for the room. 

“Why don’t you just see yourself out?” Aang growled, a real feat in-of itself given his perpetual little-boy voice. But the look on his face lent a seriousness to the sound.

“Katara already said I could stay,” Jet pointed out, and pulled the cigarette from his mouth, tucking it behind his ear. He stepped out of the hallway and into the living room, shockingly comfortable for a man surrounded by people who were mad at him — except for maybe Toph, who didn’t really have a problem with Jet. Not because she disagreed on him being an asshole. More because she’d already accepted his asshole-ness before the rest of them had come to terms with it.

“She’s said she’d kick your ass, actually,” muttered Zuko. 

Everyone looked down at him, Katara with a little start of confusion. Why was  _ he _ taking sides, of all people?

Zuko shrugged. He didn’t seem particularly worried — there was none of the tension in his body that Katara felt rocketing through her own tendons — but that wariness he’d had early on in their association was back in his eyes. “Look, I don’t have a dog in this fight. But I’m willing to put money on Katara. Since, you know, she’s crazy.”

“Thanks,” Katara said wryly. But she wasn’t mad. In fact, Zuko’s lack of either understanding or discontent had lanced the tension of the room, leaving it to drain away slowly. Except for Aang, of course, who still bristled beside her, eyes locked on Jet. She wished he wouldn’t get like that. Katara was perfectly capable of protecting herself without him. It had been cute when he was littler. Now that he was a grown man, Aang’s jealous streak was just a pain in the ass to deal with.

“Can I get something to drink?” Jet asked. “You got a beer?”

“You can take your beer and shove it straight up your — “

“Hospitality says you can have a beer, and then you leave,” Sokka interrupted. He stood between Jet and the doorway, arms folded. It was times like this that Katara remembered how much he looked like their father, with that calm, patient expression that belied great anger beneath the surface. His eyes, shadowed beneath his heavy eyebrows, were as threatening as a gray sea before a hurricane.

“Sokka!” Aang yelped, all the threat he’d built up vanishing in the one cracking word.

Katara put a hand on his wrist. Sokka had a point; there were rituals to be followed. “It’s okay,” she said, though she didn't look at him. “Sokka’s right. Go get Jet a beer, please.”

Huffing, Aang looked from Jet to Katara and then stomped off into the kitchen, wrenching the door open with such force the condiments rattled against each other in a tinkling cacophony.

“Who the hell is this?” Zuko muttered, ostensibly to Toph given that he was sitting right next to her and Katara was the only other one who might have heard him.

“Katara’s stupid ex.” Toph sounded bored. “We hate him, he’d dumb, yadda yadda yadda.”

“We hate him, huh?”

“Yeah, whatever.” Toph leaned over the back of the couch. “Yo, Twinkletoes, get me a beer too.”

“Oh, come  _ on _ ,” Aang said.

Without asking, Jet sat down in Aang’s vacated chair, which Katara knew was going to be a problem. But Sokka was right. Was Jet an absolute asshole who had broken her heart? Yeah, of course he was. Was she over it? Yeah. She wasn’t eighteen any more. She’s moved on past her “A boy lied to me and it was the worst thing to ever happen in the history of ever” phase. So she’d have Jet over for a beer, remind him that she was over him and had no desire to hop back into his bed. Then she’d send him on his way.

Besides, this time they didn’t need a guitarist so she wasn’t even invested in him in a musical sense.

Trying to calm the old anger rising in her belly — not eighteen anymore, calm down — she sat down on the free space beside Zuko. Jet’s dark eyes did that little flick between her and Zuko again. “Who’s the emo?” he asked.

“Zuko,” Zuko said, not bothering to elaborate.

Jet’s eyebrows rose. The smirk vanished, leaving hard lines. “Ozai’s kid.”

“Yeah,” Zuko said, his tone adding an unspoken,  _ What are you gonna do about it? _ “The one they don’t talk about.”

Jet’s mouth tightened into a long line, pulling his jaw into stark relief. “Katara, you know the kind of shit this dude’s pulled, right? Intimidation, harassment. Blackmail. All sorts of underhanded shit.”

“ _ My dad _ did that,” Zuko said. His voice stayed that same rough, even challenge, but his fingers dug into the cushion beside Katara’s thigh, pinkie catching the stitching of her jeans and scraping for just a second. “Not me.”

“Whatever.”

Aang came back into the living room and stopped when he saw Jet lounging in his chair. He slammed one of the brown glass bottles he carried onto the table in front of Jet and retreated to the corner of the room, pulling out Katara’s keyboard stood the perch upon. With more of his usual grace and courtesy, he handed the other beer to Toph, holding on to it for long enough that she could wrap her hands around it and give a little nod to indicate its safety before he released it.

Jet let his bottom lip rest on the glass but didn’t take a sip. He just watched Zuko over the top, and Katara watched him. It was harder seeing him now, without that little spark of attraction burning in her chest. Nothing was stranger than being near someone you once loved and no longer did, Katara reflected. It made you question all of your life choices.

“What’s he doing here?” Jet asked finally, not so much breaking Zuko’s gaze as lazily allowing it to slide away. “Did you guys lose a bet?”

“He’s our new guitarist,” Toph said. It was the first time she’d joined the conversation and Katara tensed again, unsure of which way Toph was going to settle on this, whose side she’d come down on. 

“You guys got desperate, huh?” Jet said.

“Naw.” Toph took a swig of her beer and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “He’s way better than you. Like, it’s kind of embarrassing that we ever thought you’d work out.”

“Toph, come on, that hurts.” Jet put a hand to his chest.

“Truth hurts, man.” Toph shrugged. She didn’t sound angry, just matter-of-fact, as though Jet’s failings as a guitarist — most of which had to do with too much cockiness and not enough substance to back it up — were common knowledge and universally agreed on.

Jet leaned back, throwing an arm over the back of the chair. He rested the beer bottle against his knee. “So, I hear Avatar’s shaking things up.”

“Yes,” Aang said, as though he’d rather be shaking Jet up and maybe tossing him out a window for good measure. “We seem to have managed just fine without you.”

Jet raised an eyebrow. “Jeez, hostile room. Don’t worry about me, I did just fine. Went out. Saw the world. Had some crazy experiences…” He trailed off, sighing.

“No one cares,” Aang said.

Katara glared at him. “Aang, it’s okay. Let him talk.”

Aang muttered something that Katara thought was, “Shouldn’t let him talk at all,” but she couldn’t be sure. Jet drank his beer. Sokka crossed the room and turned up the music, though no one seemed to be interested in dancing anymore.

But Katara could only hold her tension for so long. Finally, Toph started a conversation with Zuko about some metal band Katara had never heard of, and Sokka got a plate of seaweed crackers which he deposited on the table with a flourish. Then, using his powers of hosting and unexpected people skills, he pulled Aang over to the computer to help him pick a better soundtrack. Under the blue glow of the screen, the tension in Aang’s shoulders released slightly, then a little more, until Sokka had him laughing, or at least chuckling.

Which unfortunately left Jet to Katara.

“Why’d you come back?” she asked coldly.

Jet leaned towards her, grin fully in place. She hated that grin, mostly because it still managed to make her a little weak in the knees. “What, I’m not allowed to come home?”

“Not if it’s to  _ my _ home.”

Jet rolled his eyes. “Still an ice queen, aren’t you.”

“I was only like that to you,” Katara said primly. “Because you’re a dick.”

“Shit, girl, time hasn’t settled you at all.” 

She raised an eyebrow. There was an urge there to look down her nose at him, the way Aang did, but she didn’t have the height to make it work. Instead she decided to just sneer at him. “Did you think I’d settle? You really don’t know me very well, do you.”

“Way to rub it in.”

It was his little smirk that made her falter. It had been the smirk that had told her it was a good idea to take him up on his date offer the first time around anyway; she loved the way his whole face shifted to accommodate the crooked stretch of his mouth.

Then she had to beat the fluttering flame in her stomach out. She wasn’t into him. That was in the past, something she didn’t feel anymore except in echos.

Still smiling, Jet jerked his chin at Zuko. “Why’s that shithead in your band?”

“He’s not a shithead,” Katara snapped, conveniently forgetting she’d said basically the same thing about Zuko at first.

Jet’s eyebrow rose. 

“Because he’s good.”

“Better than me?”

“Yes.”

He sat back with a huff, taking a long swig of the beer. His throat worked and Katara thought about punching him right in the Adam’s Apple. He’d deserve it.

But her teenage heartbreak wasn’t worth that.

Jet lowered the bottle and swished it. Shadowed liquid sloshed about half-way up. “Just so you know, I’m not done with this,” he said, looking her in the eye. “I’m gonna go out for a smoke. I’m coming back in. To finish my beer.”

And then he winked at her.

She tensed.

“I’ll come along.” Zuko pushed himself up from the couch. The speed at which he’d responded told Katara he’d been listening in the whole time, no matter how interested he looked in his conversation with Toph. He patted her shoulder — not the kind of possessive squeeze Aang or even Jet would have given her, more like he was trying not to touch her at all — and rolled his shoulders back. His spine cracked audibly.

Jet didn’t stop smirking. “All right. Cool.”

Katara watched them walk to the door, Jet in front, Zuko on his heels, slouching, hands shoved into the pockets of his eternal leather jacket, and her stomach dropped all the way to her toes.

* * *

Jet bounced the front door of the apartment building off his hands so Zuko could catch it on the rebound, not looking back. He was already pulling the cigarette from behind his ear as the door closed behind them. The street was quiet in this residential area, a single streetlight shining delicate illumination on the sidewalk about fifteen feet away.

Jet pulled a lighter from his pocket, cupping the end of the cigarette in his free hand despite the lack of wind. Zuko pulled one of his own out and took the offered lighter. When the ember burst into light, he looked up to find Jet watching him.

“So.” Jet exhaled a long cloud of smoke from the corner of his mouth, away from Zuko. “How long have you been fucking Katara?”

Zuko, who’d just taken a first drag, choked, and coughed up what felt like an entire lung.

Jet laughed. “Chill out, dude, I’m not mad.”

“Yeah, and I’m  _ not _ fucking her.” Zuko stuck out a hand so he could brace himself against the doorframe. His lungs ached. So did his stomach, from the coughing and maybe a little from nerves, if he was completely frank with himself.

Jet’s eyebrows rocketed up towards his hairline. “Are you serious? The way you look at her, I assumed you guys had been boning. Shit, man, trust me to get that totally wrong.” He narrowed his eyes at Zuko, and there was more in it than confusion about his relationship with Katara. Clearly, Jet still didn’t trust him. Which was fine. Zuko was used to not being trusted.

“Do you  _ wanna _ fuck her?” Jet asked.

“No!”

“Oh, you  _ really  _ do.” Jet’s smirk returned full force, a targeted laser of douchebaggery boring into Zuko’s chest. “I can’t blame you, dude. She’s like... _ incredible _ in the sack. She can do this thing with her legs — “

“Ugh, stop.” Zuko held up his hand in protest. His face burned. “Please, for the love all of that is good in the world, don’t tell me this. I really  _ really _ don’t want to know.”

He  _ really _ wanted to know. And he hated himself for wanting that.

“Huh.” Jet folded his arms. The warmth of the day came back in heat still radiating from the sidewalk up through even the thick soles of Zuko’s boots. The heat made Zuko feel even warmer and less comfortable. The houses pressed up against him, the second floors looming down with empty eye windows.

“Katara doesn’t like me,” Zuko added.

“Huh, you seem like her type.” Sarcasm laced Jet’s tone.

Zuko rolled his eyes. “No, not like she doesn’t wanna screw me. She doesn’t like me as a human being. If she could get away with throwing me out of the band, literally, she would.”

Jet whistled, a long, low sound that began in his nose and filtered all the way down to his throat. “Well, from one person Katara hates to another, it’s a tough one.”

“Yeah, what did you do to her?” Zuko tried to keep his tone light, but there was that jealousy creeping in, a dark current that threatened to pull him under. But no, he wasn’t going to let it get to him. Jealousy was a dick move, he reminded himself, the words coming to him in Mai’s voice.

Jet rolled his eyes. “Ugh, nothing. It’s fine. I broke up with her.”

“Did you?” Zuko narrowed his eyes.

“Okay, she broke up with me. I may or may not have misled her about somethings. In our relationship. Like how I wasn’t sleeping with other people.”

“You cheated on her.” 

“She never specified that we were going to be exclusive.” Jet blew smoke. “It’s her own fault that — “

“Oh, shut up.”

Zuko clenched his fists so hard in his pocket that his knuckles popped. Jealousy is bad, he reminded himself. Jealousy is bad, it’s bad, it’s bad —

But this wasn’t jealousy. This was looking out for a friend. If he’d had someone cheat on him, wouldn’t he want a friend to punch his whole fist right through the asshole’s head until his bloody fingers came out the other side. Right through Jet’s stupid, brain —

He took a deep breath and forced his fingers to relax. Knowing Katara, she’d already punched him. She didn’t need him to defend her. She was a grown woman, and a tough, capable one at that.

Didn’t stop him from wanting to punch Jet in his fat mouth.

“And,” Jet continued, as though Zuko hadn’t said anything, grinning now. “I bailed on them for another band.”

“Why?” Zuko leaned against the doorframe, maintaining a false facade of calm. “Bet you regretted that one.”

Jet shrugged. “I really just went back to my first band, the one I was in when I started doinking Katara.” His smile was lazy, slow, and awful. “I mean, when I went to play for Avatar. They weren’t going anywhere then. Really new to the scene.”

“And is your band as big as they are now?” Zuko asked.

Jet’s smile slipped. There was a lot of anger under it, the kind Zuko should have expected but hadn’t. A little voice in the back of his head said that he should stop needling Jet, but no, the dude didn’t deserve to get off that easily.

“You play guitar?” he asked, changing the subject. “What do you like?”

The smile returned, though nowhere near as wide. Zuko could see how a grin like that could make a girl wet without even trying. He wished sometimes that he had one of those smiles, the kind that got him anything he wanted. But if it meant having to be a total douchebag along with it, he’d rather be a glowering asshole.

“I like a little of everything,” Jet said.

Nothing made Zuko’s estimation of a person drop more than that one phrase. “Oh,” he said, voice chilling even further than it had at the mention of Jet’s romantic failings. “So what, you hang out on the University green and play Wonderwall?”

“Low blow,” Jet said.

“I’m right, though, aren’t I.” It wasn’t really a question. A guy with a guitar who liked “a little of everything” was a guy without enough musical personality to carve out a niche. It was someone who had reasons to play besides the music. In Jet’s case, probably getting laid.

Jet dropped his cigarette and rubbed it into the sidewalk with the toe of one sneaker. “Come on, man. We should get back inside before Katara decides I’m not allowed in there.”

“Would you blame her?”

Jet’s nose twitched. “We were kids.”

Zuko grunted. His own cigarette had burned down to the filter without him taking more than a drag or two of it. He dropped it onto the sidewalk and turned, walking up the stairs to the apartment without looking back to see if Jet was behind him.

He pushed open the door of Sokka and Katara’s apartment without knocking and stomped into the atmosphere of laughter, clinking beer bottles, and Emily Haines’ soaring voice over electronic chords — a later album, one Ty Lee loved.

It made sense that Katara would love it too.

“He told you, huh,” Toph said.

“What?” He turned to face her. 

She sat on the couch with her feet still underneath her, swirling ice around an empty glass. Her face was half turned away, but the smile was visible in the apples of her cheeks. She turned just slightly, her too-large ears flashing beneath their usual covering of hair. “Jet told you. About him and Katara.” She waved a hand. “Your footsteps sound mad.”

“You can tell that, huh?”

She snorted. “Been blind all my life, so yeah. Go get me another drink. Katara’s in the kitchen.”

“Why would I want to talk to her?”

Toph held her drink out towards him. She didn’t bother to turn her head in the same direction. “Go on.”

He took the empty glass and went into the kitchen.

Katara stood over the sink, running water into an empty ice tray. She glanced over her shoulder as he entered, curls coiling around her face like dark seafoam. She shook her head. “Have a nice chat?”

Feeling like he was cluttering up most of the kitchen with his presence, Zuko leaned against the counter. “Toph wants another drink.”

“Toph is cut off. She’s like, twelve.”

“I think she’s a little older than twelve.”

“Not enough.” Katara turned and took the glass from him. Her fingers brushed his. He looked down and when he returned her gaze to his face, Katara was staring at him. “What did Jet tell you?” she asked.

Zuko looked away. His anger, still burning in his chest like old embers, felt stupid now. Like he was stepping on her toes by even having it.

“Said he, uh...was sleeping around on you.”

Katara took the glass from him. She sighed. “Yeah, I was stupid. I should have known.”

“You didn’t deserve that.”

She flipped the faucet on with the back of her hand, running water into the glass. “No. Of course I didn’t. But I should have known. Have you  _ seen _ his smile?”

Zuko snorted.

She turned to look at him. Her hip bumped against the counter. In the small kitchen, there was nowhere to go to give her space. His knee, inches from hers, burned with imagined warmth. He wanted to press her up against the edge of the sink, kiss her like one of the rom com films his mom used to watch, before...everything.

He didn’t.

“Still. What an asshole.”

Katara smiled, that beautific, beaming expression that lit not only her face but the whole world around her. Zuko’s chest warmed, not with anger now but with the bittersweet joy of an unfulfilled crush.

“Yeah,” she said. “That’s why I kicked him in the dick when I found out. Served him right.”

Zuko barked out a laugh. Katara kept smiling.

When Jet left, they were still in the kitchen, snickering. Zuko only vaguely saw Sokka push Jet out the door and close it behind him.

He didn’t even mention it to Katara. The less said, the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caveat: I don't hate Jet. I just love writing douchebags.
> 
> Also I'll get back into more of the music stuff soon. Promise.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a break from NaNoWriMo to write this (I mean, I counted it because I'm a cheater, but still) because I have no self control.

“Are you going to wear that for the show?” Katara asked.

Toph plucked at the front of her t-shirt. “Dunno. What am I wearing?”

“Ha,” Katara said without much humor. She shook her head and looked down her insignificant nose at Toph, who sprawled in the passenger seat of Katara’s sedan with her knees up on the dashboard. Today it had been Katara’s job to pick Toph up from University — an institution Toph claimed to despise — and drive her home to get ready for the show. Then they’d go to the practice room, pick up Toph’s drums, load them into Appa, and head to Moon Fish.

Katara’s hands clenched on the steering wheel. Moon Fish. They were seriously about to play a show at Moon Fish. How was this happening?

Deep breaths, she reminded herself. Long, slow, deep breaths. Don’t freak out before you even get there.

Toph sighed and slid down even further, so all that that would be visible from the outside of the car were her knees. “Just lets go, okay? You don’t need to worry about what I look like.”

“Ha, jokes on you, I’m worried about everything.” Katara started the car and pulled away from the curb. She couldn’t blame Toph for the nasty attitude. It was probably just nerves. And maybe a helping of how little Toph liked being taxied around by her friends. The inability to drive was the one thing that always seemed to get Toph down about not being able to see.

“You’re always worried about everything.” Toph waved a hand. “That’s not new. I don’t know if you’re trying to make me feel better, but it’s not working.”

“Are you nervous about the show?”

“No.”

It sounded like a lie; Toph’s words were short and clipped and she sank into herself when she said it. But it was always hard to tell Toph’s emotion from her body language. Katara wished she was able to stop trying to read Toph, but it wasn’t meant to be. She wished she could stop doing a lot of things like freaking out about the show, but here she was. Freaking out.

“What are you wearing?” Toph asked.

Katara looked down at herself. “A dress. I’ve got a jacket and some heels in the back though. If this is going to be our big break, maybe I should dress like it.”

“Yeah, but from what Sokka says, you’re always way overdressed compared to the rest of us.”

“That’s because one of us has to look good. And Aang never looks bad.”

Toph ran her hand down her leg, her fingers twining in the ripped knee of her black skinny jeans. “I think I’m going to roll with this,” she said.

“You’re going with the old jeans and the flannel?”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” Toph shrugged. “I’m not going to pretend to be something I’m not on stage. Not that I’m saying that’s what you’re doing. Because I guess it’s not. You’re just the kind of person who dresses up.”

“Thanks,” Katara said dryly, “I think.”

“It was supposed to be a compliment,” Toph grumbled. “I’m terrible at them. Sorry, I guess.”

Katara grinned. Toph didn’t sound sorry. She sounded pissed off. But wasn’t that how Toph sounded all the time anyway?

“Do you need anything from your place then?” she asked.

“Nope.” Toph pulled herself up into a more conventional sitting position. Apparently they were far enough away from the school for her to stop pretending that she wasn’t getting picked up by another human being. Why it mattered, Katara didn’t know. Potentially something about independance? Who knew.

“So we can go straight to get your drums?”

“Yup.”

“And you’re going to wear that shirt?”

“Why, is it really ugly?”

Katara looked over at Toph, the quick driver glance towards a passenger, pretending she wasn’t taking her eyes off the road at all. Toph’s green and brown flannel wasn’t exactly ugly. It just wasn’t what Katara would have chosen to wear to something as important as this.

But, Katara reminded herself, Toph wasn’t her and that was okay. It really was okay.

She was just really, really nervous.

“You look fine,” she told Toph.

“Not sure if that’s a compliment coming from you.” Toph grinned and Katara was pretty sure it was a joke — some friendly needling — but it wasn’t exactly clear. She decided to ignore it.

Sighing, Katara took the turn to the practice room, parking out back behind Appa. The van’s back doors were open and Sokka sat on the carpeted interior, packing amps and effect pedals into a neat stack.

Katara got out and waited for Toph to exit the car as well. The day wasn’t as sticky as it had been lately, with that oppressive heat of late summer. A cool breeze slid down the street, ruffling the hem of Katara’s skirt and tossing her hair around her shoulders.

“Finally,” Sokka said. “Toph, help me with these drums, would you?”

“What drums?”

Katara snorted, watching Sokka’s face collapse in on itself as he decided whether it was acceptable for him to yell at Toph for being such a smart ass. “I’ll go get my stuff,” she said.

“Good. Tell Aang and Zuko to stop screwing around up there and get down here. I need some help.” Sokka waved his hand around the van as though that said it all, though what he needed help with Katara couldn’t fathom. So she just nodded and started up the stairs.

Halfway up, she met Aang, carrying his microphone stand. His face lit up when he saw her. “Katara!” He put the mic stand down and leaned against it, blocking her way up. “Hey! There you are. I was worried you were going to be late.”

Katara offered him a wan smile. Her nerves were so on edge that having a sweet, nice conversation with Aang — since sweet and nice were really his only modes — was really out of the question. “Hi, Aang. Excited?”

“I am!” He grinned. “What about you?”

“Nervous.” She glanced pointedly at the stairs. “I need to get my keyboard. Can I slip by you there?”

Aang’s face flickered, his mouth turning down in the briefest moment of disappointment before he plastered his smile back over it. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, Aang, it’s fine.” She tried to keep the annoyance out of her voice, but it was hard. “There’s just a lot to do and I’m really on edge, all right?”

“Sorry.” Aang dropped his head. “I just — “

Katara forced a smile. “Yeah, I know. It’s okay.”

Aang nodded.

“Thanks,” Katara said and turned sideways to slide past him, since he didn't seem interested in stepping out of her way. The nerves were getting worse. Her throat tightened, her chest and arms bubbling with energy. She took the steps two at a time, panting by the time she got to the top. It felt good to move fast, her lungs expanding and cutting away some of the nervous constriction.

She shoved open the door of the practice room. Zuko looked up. He looked her up and down with a strangely appraising eye. “Nice dress.”

Katara paused in the doorway, her momentum stalled by the odd comment. What did that mean? Was that an actual compliment? No matter how nice Zuko had been lately — something that still threw her off occasionally — she couldn’t get used to him saying activly pleasant things to her.

“Uh, thanks?” She imitated his motion, looking him up and down. “I see you and Toph have taken the same approach.”

Zuko looked down at himself. “What, is she wearing normal clothes too?”

“Don’t you ever dress up?” she asked.

Zuko grinned and pushed his hair out of his face. Like the compliments, the smile always threw her too. It made her stomach flip, something she always associated with anxiety. Why would his smile make her anxious? What was he planning?

“I’m not one for looking good, especially if I’m going to play and sweat and be gross all night.” Zuko pulled his Black Flag shirt away from his chest, peering down at it. “This is fine, right? I think I have another if I need it…”

Katara pointed to his stomach. “What’s that?”

Zuko looked down and swore. “Yeah, that’s tea leaves.” He scratched at the stain with a nail and sighed. “Ugh, it’s worked its way in there. Shit. I guess I should change.”

Without any preamble at all, Zuko grabbed his empty guitar case, pulled a second black t-shirt out of a compartment, and yanked his shit over his head.

“Holy shit,” Katara said.

Zuko paused, peering at her over the collar of the t-shirt, but Katara didn’t have enough brainpower to look at his face. She was busy staring at the hard muscles of his stomach and back, the flame tattoo on one shoulder blade, the way his arms bulged as he twisted his way out of the shirt.

“Katara?” he said.

She pulled her eyes from his bare skin. “Huh?”

“You okay?”

Her whole face went red. God, what was she doing? Just because he was hot and had the arms of a god and the abs of a male model didn’t excuse her going all gaga and stupid. She cleared her throat, trying to pull herself back together. Her cheeks burned so hot she worried her face might burst into flames at any second.

Zuko’s eyebrow furrowed, and then he looked down, realized what she was staring at, and yanked his shirt back down. “Oh,” he said, voice rough and strained as he turned away from her. “Uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to … uh … “

“Yeah. Uh. Sorry.” Katara tucked her hair behind her ear and turned away. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

“I think it’s too late,” Zuko muttered. She glanced at him. His face was as red as hers. “I mean, what with the ogling.”

Katara squeeked in horror. “I was  _ not _ ogling you.”

He grinned, not looking at her. There was something about the smile, paired with the pink of his cheeks, that made the expression look private. Happy. Not at all mocking. This time, when he pulled off his shirt and actually managed to put the other one back on, Katara didn’t look. Well, she didn’t look directly at him. Instead, she just watched through her hair.

Clearly  _ someone _ had a gym membership.

Then she realized  _ who  _ the abs were attached to and clamped down on her feelings. She pulled her hair out from behind her ears, resenting the bubbling interest in her stomach. This was stupid and ridiculous. She couldn’t believe he’d tried to say  _ she _ was ogling  _ him _ . Of all people! Katara didn’t oggle. She wasn’t the ogling type of girl. That was for people who didn’t have standards, or class, both of which Katara prided herself on having in spades. Not counting Jet. A girl could stumble occasionally.

“It’s cool,” Zuko said. His cheeks were still red. The smile had slid away from his mouth, replaced by his usual pursed scowl. What had changed? Katara watched him, but he didn’t say anything, just tugged at the hem of his t-shirt. Another of his inexhaustible supply of punk shirts. Katara squinted, trying to make out the band. Bikini Kill. Never heard of them.

“Sorry,” she said quietly, though what she was referring to, she didn’t want to think too deeply about.

“It’s really fine.” Zuko scratched at his chin and the day’s worth of stubble there. “I just wasn't expecting it.”

“Yeah.” Katara shook her head. She slipped open the carrying case for her keyboard and with practiced ease, slid the instrument off the stand and into the padded canvas. Zipping it up with as much finality as one could, she tried to ignore Zuko’s presence. With steady hands, she folded the stand and velcroed it onto the front of the case, rising and pulling the whole thing onto the back with the backpack straps she’d attached herself one day when she got tired of the strap pulling her shoulder out of place.

“You need help?” Zuko asked.

Katara hefted the keyboard. “I’m fine. I’ve got it.”

“You’re sure?”

She glared at him, which felt far more natural than checking him out. God, had she really done that? The implications were finally catching up to her. “I got it,” she said, with more anger at herself than at him. “I’ve been doing this for a while now. I don’t need you to baby me.”

His eyebrow snapped down over his eye again, an expression she was certainly more familiar with. “I’m not trying to baby you. I don’t baby people.” He muttered something under his breath which probably wasn’t flattering. Again, a good sign. “I’m trying to be polite.”

“Well … stop.”

“Fine,” Zuko snapped. He picked up his guitar and tossed it over his shoulder, grabbing his leather jacket up in one hand. “That’ll teach me to try to be nice to you.”

Katara stuck her nose in the air, trying to look in control of the situation. She wasn't. The bare walls of the practice room felt like they were closing in around her, pushing her closer to Zuko, trapping her in here. He seemed very large, all of a sudden, though not intimidating. Just difficult to ignore.

She didn’t say anything to him, just yanked open the door and stalked off down the hall towards the stairs and Appa waiting outside.

“Is Zuko coming?” Aang asked as she pushed her way out the back door and eased the keyboard into the back of the van.

“I don’t care,” she spat.

Aang’s eyes widened. “Are you two fighting again?”

“No.”

“Doesn’t really sound like a no.” He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, thumb rubbing a little circle across her bicep. 

She glanced at the hand — it was nice that he was trying to calm her, but she didn’t want to be calmed — and shook him off. To soften the blow, she smiled at him, even though she didn’t feel much like smiling. “I’m fine. We’re fine. He’s just...frustrating.”

“Okay,” Aang said. His face stayed serious, but he didn’t push it.

The door banged as Zuko came out behind Katara. He didn’t look at her, just kept his eyes on his feet. “I can take my car,” he said.

“I wanna ride with Zuko,” Toph said brightly. “Can we listen to that Ramones album you were playing the other day?”

The corner of Zuko’s mouth curled up. “Yeah, of course.”

Katara huffed, annoyed that Toph was abandoning her so easily. “I’ll take my car too,” she said, turning to Sokka. “Appa’s pretty full, what with all the drums and amps in there.” She peered into the back of the van, which was nearly bursting at the seams. “Are you sure we need all that stuff?”

Sokka sniffed. “All that ‘stuff’,” he began, putting air quotes around the word derisively, “is in fact an intrinsic part of our performance, which you would know if you weren’t so wrapped up in yourself over there with your cute little piano.”

“It’s a keyboard,” she responded, “and I’m just worried they’ll have stuff there for us already.”

“Then we leave it in the van. Better to have it and not need it, then get there and realize we should have brought it.” Sokka hopped into the driver’s seat. He turned the key, though the door was still open. Beth Ditto’s voice issued from the speakers, fighting against the upbeat drums of Tommy Ramone which blared across the parking lot from Zuko’s car. “Aang, you wanna ride with me or Katara?” Sokka called.

“Katara,” Aang said without hesitation. He was already heading towards her car. “If that’s okay.”

“It’s fine,” Katara said, waving a hand. “I’m sure you don’t wanna be trapped in there with Sokka’s gross jokes.”

“You know, I’ve heard that some sisters aren’t total buttheads,” Sokka told her.

“False.” Katara patted him on the shoulder and headed towards her car, meeting Aang halfway there. She got in, cutting out the sounds of warring genres and waited for Aang to settle his long legs into the passenger seat.

“Feeling less nervous?” he asked.

“Not really.” Katara tapped her fingers against the wheel, waiting for Sokka to pull out first, and then Zuko. It was the second who bothered her, and who was taking way  _ way _ too much time. What were he and Toph laughing about in there? What gave him the right to have that curled little smile, and just throw it around like that where anyone could be subjected to it?

What on  _ earth _ was happening to her? She was being a complete embarrassment.

Aang followed her glare. “What did Zuko say to you?” he asked gently.

“Nothing.”

Zuko pulled out and Katara followed him, her back tires shooting up a spray of pale gravel behind her before she made it onto the paved street. 

“Doesn’t seem like nothing,” Aang continued, his voice still that beautiful, calming stain, like a half-heard melody.

Katara, who was in no mood to be sung to, wrapped her hands fully around the wheel and squeezed until her knuckles went white. “He just makes me  _ crazy, _ ” she grumbled, staring at the back bumper of Zuko’s car in front of her. “What gives him the right to be such a massive dickhead?”

“I mean … I know you don’t like him, but I’m not sure he’s chatty enough to be considered a dickhead,” Aang said. “You seem to like him okay sometimes.”

Katara rolled her eyes. “Yeah, all right. Occasionally he’s not a complete jerk. But more often than not, I just wanna wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze until he chokes to death.” She sighed, blowing a stray curl out of her face. “Not to be like, too dramatic about it or anything.”

“And you don’t think maybe this is just some residual anger from you not liking Ozai?”

Katara turned her head to scowl at Aang, taking her eyes off the road for far too long and not caring. “I’m not the only one who dislikes Ozai here.”

Aang’s mouth pursed, which Katara took as a victory. She looked back at the street in front of her, smiling grimly. “No, of course I don’t like Ozai either,” Aang said. “And you don’t. And, let’s remember who probably hates Ozai the most.”

“His mother, I hope,” Katara grumbled.

“His son.”

Katara growled through her teeth. She really, really hated it when Aang made well thought out, logical points, something he did more often than she wanted to admit. “Okay, that’s true. But I don’t think this has anything to do with Ozai. It’s entirely to do with Zuko and his stupid smug face and his dumb ho —”

She broke off, just in time, clamping her teeth down on the word so hard her teeth hurt. She would absolutely not ever call Zuko or any part of him  _ hot _ , especially not in front of Aang, who would take it badly. She wasn’t sure how it would be bad — protective instinct or anger at Zuko, probably, not the imaginary crush Suki was always implying — but she didn’t want to deal with whatever unpleasant emotion Aang would display.

Not before this big show.

Instead, she breathed out, trying to force herself to calm down. Why was she so worked up to begin with? Whatever. She just needed to calm down. “I’m sorry,” she said, once she trusted herself to speak again. “I’m just really anxious.”

“It’s okay.” Aang reached out to stroke her forearm. He was awfully touchy today, but maybe it was his way of trying to be there for her. If that was the case, she was going to let him keep doing it, just because she thought it might be good for him. “I’m just worried about you. When you get worked up like that, you can be really scary.”

Katara laughed. “I don’t think I’m that scary.”

“That’s because the anger isn’t directed at you.” Aang left his hand on her wrist for a long moment, then dropped it. “It’s scarier from the outside, I promise.”

Moon Fish loomed before them, the marquee flashing “AVATAR” in six inch high letters. Katara’s stomach clenched as she followed Sokka and Zuko past the building and around the block to the parking lot out back. A skinny man dressed in black from head to toe propped the back door open with one foot, talking to Sokka, who had parked the van right by the building. Katara drove past and parked on the other side of the building, beside Zuko’s car. Both he and Toph were already outside, Zuko lighting a cigarette in his cupped hands.

“I wish he wouldn’t do that,” Katara muttered, wrinkling her nose. “Gross habit.”

Aang nodded. “Are you going to be okay?”

She waved him off, reclaiming her wrist from his grasp. “Yeah, Aang, I’m fine. I swear. I promise up, down, and sideways, okay?”

He smiled, a beatific, radiant smile that was the exact opposite of Zuko’s tiny smirk and therefore exactly what Katara needed right now. She smiled back at him, just because it was that infectious, and got out of the car.

Moon Fish, she thought, looking up at the unassuming back of the building, here we come. Ready or not.

She’d thought there’d be a lot of waiting around, but there wasn’t. As soon as her feet hit the pavement, Sokka was yelling at her to come talk to this person, and then there was someone else, and another. At one point, she found herself working out payment and marketing with Furong, whose thick-framed glasses kept reflecting a warped version of her face, only adding to the nervousness in her stomach. Everything blurred. All the people who wanted her attention became faceless, just a series of questions she had to answer and get on with.

While she dealt with the promoters and the business side of things, Sokka and Zuko set up the instruments. Other bands probably had roadies for this, Katara reflected briefly, but Avatar wasn’t the kind of band who was allowed anything so fancy. Oh well. It wasn’t really like they couldn’t handle it. Or could afford to pay anyone else. Yet. Maybe someday.

Toph settled herself behind the drumkit and she and Aang began the arduous process of setting her drums in exactly the right place for her muscle memory. Once Zuko had tried to help, but they’d just ended up yelling at each other. Aang was officially the only one with the patience to put up with Toph as she got progressively more annoyed that the drums didn’t magically go where she wanted them to, when she wanted them to.

Katara sat down on the edge of the stage and stared out into the empty venue. She wished she could just sink into the floor and hide there, play her keyboard from somewhere that no one would notice her or look at her. 

It was a rarity, this kind of nervousness before a show, and Katara really wasn’t a fan of it.

So she went to go find Zuko.

He was in the green room, having left Sokka to finish running microphone cables across the stage. The sound engineer had finally showed up and was helping out. Zuko had his guitar in his hands and kept running his fingers over the frets as though he worried he might forget them.

He looked up when she came in. A strange mix of emotions, to subtle to work through, ran across his face. “Oh,” he said.

Katara bit back the urge to ask what the  _ hell _ that meant and focused on why she was here.

“I’m sorry I got mad at you earlier,” she said, words clipped and hard to push through her lips. “I guess I still kind of get angry at you for things that aren’t your fault. I know I need to stop and I’ll try my best to be better.”

Zuko stared at her. “Katara,” he said, voice rolling from his throat like water over gravel, “that has got to be one of the most half-hearted, over-scripted, fake apologies I have ever heard in my entire life.”

Rage flickered back to life in Katara’s stomach.

Zuko smiled. It was that strange, real smile again, the self-conscious one that she found she liked on him. “Thanks,” he said. “I accept. Sorry I made fun of you. I’m just…” His ears turned red. “I wasn’t expecting … you know. The staring.”

“I wasn’t  _ staring _ ,” she insisted, well aware that she had definitely been staring. “I’m just not used to people stripping down right in front of me like that.”

“I just took my shirt off. Calm down.”

Katara rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I said I’m sorry. Are we going to be okay?”

Zuko’s eyebrow shot up into his hair, disappearing under the dark bangs. “Yeah, of course. Are we not fine? Are you mad at me because I…” The eyebrow reappeared, his eye narrowing. “Wait a second, what’s going on here? Did you think I was mad at you?”

“No. It doesn’t matter.” What  _ had _ she thought? She didn’t know. Her whole head was stupid now and she didn’t know how to make it come back together and reconfigure into something recognizable. “I just want this show to go well, okay?”

“What, and you think my naked chest is going to stop that?”

“No!” Katara ran her hands over her hair. “I don’t know!”

Zuko stilled. He put his guitar down and came over to her, standing about a foot away. Closer than he usually did. Katara looked up at him.

Zuko leaned down just a little so he could look her in the eye. He reached out, slowly, and put his hands on her shoulders, holding her in place. It wasn’t the calming, stroking hands that Aang used. Just solid and strong, a heavy presence that brought her straight back down to earth. She met his eyes.

“Katara,” he said in that low, weather-worn growl that she thought was his truthful voice, “it’s all going to be fine. You’re going to do great. Look at you. When was the last time you actually messed anything up at a show?”

She ran her hand down the side of her face, surprised not to feel developing wrinkles beneath her fingers. “I don’t know.”

“Never. The answer is never.” He shook his head. “You’re always consistent. You know what you’re doing. Stop freaking out.”

Katara took a deep breath. His way of comforting her was so different from the way anyone else did. Sokka would have told her she was fine, but he wouldn’t have offered any proof. Aang liked to approach all situations from an emotional standpoint, and would have tried to validate every feeling she had and remind her that it was okay to feel that way before he helped at all — that always annoyed her because she  _ knew _ it was okay to feel the way she felt, but she didn’t want to feel that way anymore. Toph, of course, would have just told her to woman up and left it at that.

She liked this way. Being reminded of why she was good. A compliment, though one from a surprising source. She blinked. Zuko was still staring at her, his eyes as solid and stable as his hands.

“Thanks,” she said in a small voice. “You’re right.”

“Yeah, I know.” Zuko held on to her shoulders for a moment longer, still staring at her. The contact began to warm her skin and make a new kind of nervousness rise in the back of her throat by the time he let go. He stepped back. “You’re good at this, Katara. Don’t second guess yourself.”

“All right.” She cleared her throat, looking down at her hands. “Please don’t tell anyone I panicked like this.”

“Never happened,” Zuko said. He picked his guitar up again and turned away from her, drawing a hand across the strings. Despite the niceness he’d displayed just a second ago,  his shoulders had come back up to his ears, blocking her out.

Sighing, Katara sat down on the couch. She looked around the little room. “This is where you first played for us,” she said.

“Mmm,” Zuko agreed. She thought it was agreement. “Thought you were gonna kick my ass that night.”

“I was considering it.”

“I prefer the truce,” he said.

She couldn’t help smiling. “Me too.”

The door opened. “I got pizza,” Sokka said, dropping two large boxes down on the nearest piece of furniture, which happened to be an old speaker with the horn torn out. “Figured it would be better to camp out back here until the show than risk getting caught in the massive crowd I expect to draw.”

“Middling at best, probably.” Toph followed Sokka into the room, already eating a piece of pizza, the other hand held out in front of her. The cane was tucked under her arm, useless. “This place holds like five hudred people. If we get like...a hundred, I’ll be happy.”

“Wow, way to bring the pessimism.” Sokka turned on her, hands on his hips. “If  you’re going to be such a downer, young lady, then you don’t get any more pizza and can go find your own damn dinner.”

Toph swallowed and grinned, sauce clinging to her teeth. “This is my third piece. Don’t think I’ll starve if you decide to have a hissy fit.”

Sokka sighed. “Do you see what I have to deal with?” he said, throwing himself onto the couch beside Katara. “Do you see? It’s like having a really shitty child.”

“Imagine what it’s like having three of those,” Katara muttered.

“Did  you call me a child?” Sokka humphed. “I’m older than you.”

“Are you counting me too?” Aang sounded more disappointed than angry. “Come on, I’m not that bad, am I?”

“No no, I’m definitely a shithead kid.” Toph felt around and opened the pizza box, grabbing a fourth slice and therefore officially eating a whole half by herself. “I’ll own that. Also, you guys better get in on this before it’s gone.”

There was a sudden made scramble for the pizza. Katara got a slice of the pepperoni before it was all gone. Sokka came up with two and Zuko, who had sniped a piece of the cheese, almost got an elbow in the face for his troubles. He sat back down, far away from the developing feeding frenzy, and looked at Katara across the heads of the other band members.

She shrugged.

He made a sympathetic face and went back to eating his pizza and obsessing over his guitar.

Silence, or semi-silence, reigned over the green room after the food had been consumed. Zuko kept fiddling, eliciting a few random chords occasionally and not speaking. Toph and Aang were playing some kind of card game, which Toph seemed to be winning, snickering quietly as she ran her fingers over the braille etched in the corner of each card. Sokka dozed. Katara took a book from her purse and opened it, doing her best to read, but really just freaking out.

“When are we going on?” Aang asked. His outward calm was unruffled.

Katara checked her phone. “Half an hour.”

Toph groaned. “Come on, I’m bored. I’m so tired of waiting here. And Aang is terrible at Dou Dizhu. It’s not particularly satisfying to kick a baby’s ass at cards.”

“That’s hurtful,” Aang said.

“I’m honestly not sure you can read,” Toph added, needling him further. “Like, I can’t even see the cards here. This is embarrassing for both of us. But mostly you.”

“Toph, come on — “

“Enough.” Katara sat up. “Cut it out, you two. I know we’re all a little nervous but it’s no good to take it out on each other.”

“You were taking it out on Zuko earlier.” Toph turned her face in Katara’s direction, pulling her knees up to her chest. “I don’t see how this is any different. Or is it that you’re dealing with so much goddamn sexul tension that — ?”

“Toph!” Katara snapped, horrified. Her face burned. Why did everyone have to be so terrible today? It was a big day. The biggest. And yet, here Toph was, adding to Katara’s day of ongoing embarrassment and anger.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Zuko said, his head snapping up. “Yeah, what? Also, no.”

Aang looked exactly as horrified as Katara felt, but he wasn’t looking at Toph. Instead, he was staring at her as though she’d kicked his puppy.

“That’s ridiculous,” she said, trying not to look at Aang at all. The face was making her question years of insisting he wasn’t interested in her romantically at all. It wasn’t the expression of an upset friend. But she really, really didn’t have time for this at all. “There is zero sexual tension at all. None. Stop being so unpleasant, just because you’re worried.”

Toph was still grinning, a nasty edge to it. “Sure. Yeah, I’m just so nervous that I’m saying mean things just to upset you and make myself feel better. That must be it.” She rolled her eyes. “Sorry I’m such a horrible bitch. It’s not at all because you guys are all kissy face at each other — “

“Toph,” Zuko snapped, the first time Katara had heard him raise his voice at her. “Stop it. Now.”

Toph’s smile vanished. She got up and moved away from Aang, heading towards the small bathroom attached to the green room. “Fine. If you’re going to be like that, I’ll just fuck off for a while.”

“Oh, come on, Toph!” Katara called after her, but it was too late. Toph stepped into the bathroom and slammed the door closed.

No one looked at each other. Sokka snored loudly into the silence.

“I hate when she gets like that,” Katara said finally. “Mean.”

“That’s...not true,” Aang said as though he was about to walk onto a bed of nails.

“No!”

It gratified Katara that Zuko said it along with her, just as loudly, with the same amount of forceful denial. She glanced at him, but he’d turned away, shoulder’s hunched, back in his protective little world.

Aang relaxed, sitting back in the chair. Color flooded back into his cheeks. 

_ Don’t think about the implications _ , Katara chided herself.  _ Not now. You need to focus. _

“We gotta go out soon,” Katara said, glancing at the closed bathroom door. “We should…”

“Send Sokka in.” Zuko didn’t look up to add his suggestion to the conversation, just kept staring down at his guitar. “He’s the only one who hasn’t pissed her off yet.”

“Good idea.” Katara reached over and shook Sokka until his eyes fluttered open. “Sokka, Toph’s mad again. Can you go get her out of the bathroom?”

Sokka wiped a string of drool from the corner of his lips. “What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

He gave her a knowing look. “Sure. How long have I got?”

“Twenty-five minutes.”

Sokka whistled. “It’ll be a miracle. Why don’t you guys go somewhere else so she doesn’t have to see  you?”

“Okay.” Katara nodded and shooed the boys out the door, into the backstage hallways. There wasn’t a particularly extensive network in Moon Fish — it wasn’t the kind of venue that had seats or anything, just an open floor space and a blank black proscenium — but enough that they’d be able to give Toph a little space.

“I’m going to go check the stage,” Aang said, already backing away. “See how the opener is. Maybe say hey to them before we go on or something.”

Be a nice person. That was his implication. Katara sighed.

He waved and turned to go, which left Katara and Zuko standing alone in the hallway, about five feet apart, not looking at each other.

There was a long silence. 

“I wish it was acceptable for me to get super drunk before playing,” Zuko said. 

Katara snorted, imagining Zuko drunk. It wasn’t something she’d seen before, but she kind of wanted to. Or maybe, given his usual level of anger, she didn’t. What would he be like?

“It’s not true,” Katara said. “What Toph said.”

“Yeah, of course not.” Zuko leaned against the cinderblock wall across from her, folding his arms and maintaining an aura of nonchalance, but refusing to look her in the eye. “Look, I’m not going to take what a mean nineteen-year-old girl says to heart, if that’s what you’re wondering. I get that Toph’s kind of a pain in the ass. The kind that lashes out when she feels an emotion.”

“Cool.” Katara nodded. She wished she had something to fiddle with in order to keep her hands busy, but there was nothing, so she settled for picking at her cuticles. “Just wanted to make sure she wasn’t weirding you out or anything.”

“Don’t worry.” Zuko cleared his throat. “Besides, you’ve got like six hundred boyfriends.”

Her head shot up, eyes locking on him like a laser targeting system. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she snapped.

“Nothing, damn.” Zuko made an annoyed noise through his nose. “Okay, look, that came out wrong. I just mean everyone likes you. It’s no wonder she thought I did too.”

“Everyone likes me?” She wondered if he meant Aang.

Zuko shrugged. “You know. Jet. Haru. Other...people.”

He definitely meant Aang. Why did everyone know this except her? Why was she only now coming to the realization that maybe Aang’s protectiveness wasn’t purely platonic? Maybe she was just really stupid and no one had bothered to point it out to her.

Or maybe everyone else was reading into it instead. That was a distinct possibility. Look what Toph had just done, just because she and Zuko had something of a hot and cold relationship.

“Forget it,” Zuko said.

Sokka came out of the green room, Toph in tow. She looked, if not happy, at least not generally enraged. “Okay,” Sokka said. “Katara and Zuko are right here. Do you want to maybe say something to them?”

Toph groaned. “Ugh, not really.”

Sokka tapped his foot against the carpeted floor and gave Katara a long-suffering look. “Come on, Toph, we have to go on stage soon. Don’t be a butthead about this.”

“Fine.” Toph turned her face up to the ceiling, as though not physically being able to see them wasn’t enough. “I’m sorry I implied that you two want to fuck each other, even if I think it’s probably true, whatever.”

Katara looked at Zuko. He had his head down, mostly covered by hair, but his shoulders were shaking. He was laughing. At a time like this. With Toph being such a total jerk.

“I think that’s the best we’re going to get,” he said, still chuckling.

Katara couldn’t help it. She smiled too. Then laughed. Pretty soon the two of them were leaning against the same wall, snorting with uncontrollable mirth.

“See, this is what happens when I try,” Toph said to Sokka.

“If that was trying, I’m honestly worried about what it looks like when you  _ don’t _ try.”

“I think we’re over it,” Katara managed between giggles. “We should go find Aang. He went off to be a nice headliner and watch the opening band.”

“You two suck,” Toph told them. “Just really suck.”

Zuko and Katara looked at each other, unsure of why she was so mad, but still laughing. Katara wiped her eyes, trying not to smudge her mascara. “Okay, let’s go.”

Zuko nodded and they followed Aang down the hallway towards the wings. After this overdramatic nonsense, the show would be a breeze.

Of course, it wasn’t.

They came on stage to thunderous applause. The lights burned into Katara’s eyes as she looked out into the crowd and almost threw up. Toph had been wrong. There weren’t a hundred people. There were at least three times that, probably more. After about ten feet, Katara’s view of the audience was obscured by the lights and the blood pounding in her eyeballs. She wanted to sink into the stage or maybe just die, even though she never usually got nervous before shows.

Someone yelled her name. She looked down. Suki stood right in front of the crowd, her elbows resting on the lip of the stage. She shot Katara two thumbs up and winked.

Katara smiled back. Good old Suki. She was so fantastic. She must have been there for hours to get that spot, just waiting.

It made Katara feel marginally less sick. Enough that she was ready to walk to the front of the stage, wave to the crowd, and go stand behind her keyboard, ready to make this happen.

Holy shit. She was actually playing at Moon Fish.

Katara took a deep breath and settled her fingers on the familiar keys. Another wave of nerves crested over her and she looked down at Suki in the front, still smiling. Suki made a little heart out of her thumbs and fingers, pushing it out towards Katara. Smiling, Katara returned the gesture.

And then Toph launched into the first song without waiting for Aang to attempt any banter, and all the nerves dropped away. 

They played through half the set, then let Aang ramble into the microphone in his usual endearing but embarrassing fashion while Katara chugged half a bottle of water and made sure she remembered what they were playing next. How’d they gotten through most of the album already? That was the problem with only having so much material. They were going to need to write some more songs.

Typically, she got nervous again as soon as she wasn’t playing anything.

She glanced into the crowd. Suki was still there, keeping her spot at the front through sheer force of personality. Katara gave her a tiny thumbs up, which Suki returned with a whoop, very conspicuous in the quiet.

“I guess we’ll play some more,” Aang said. He smiled when someone in the back cheered. “Okay, I get it.”

Katara stumbled only once in the second half — when a girl with dark hair standing by the side of the crowd yelled something at Zuko. It was hard to tell, since it occurred during a pause in a song, but it sounded like she called him a traitor.

Katara turned around and glanced at Zuko. The girl seemed familiar, and it took a second for Katara to place her as the passenger in Zuko’s sister’s car, the day Burn Bitches had shown up at the practice room. 

But Zuko didn’t look angry, or sad, or whatever she might have expected. Instead, he just rolled his eyes.

“Dammit, Mai,” he muttered, not loud enough for the girl to actually hear. “I’d think you were over things a lot more if you stopped stalking me, you crazy goth bitch.”

Katara grinned. “Sounds like you’re handling your emotions well today.”

Zuko met her eyes, a look so full of feelings that Katara couldn’t — and didn’t want to — try to untangle it. “I have other things in my life now,” he said.

Katara blushed. Obviously, he was talking about the band, but for a second—

No, those were stupid thoughts.

“Toph,” she hissed. “Could you please get us started here?”

“Yeah, it’s your turn to start,” Toph said back. “You open this one. What are you waiting for?”

Blushing harder, Katara hit the first chord.

At the end of the set, Aang said his goodbyes. Katara trooped off the stage, holding Toph’s hand to lead her — Toph hated having her cane on stage, claiming it always threw off the position of her drums. The whole band gathered in the wings for a second, pressing close to each other.

“They’re still clapping out there,” Sokka said, peering over his shoulder. “Are we supposed to do an encore?”

Toph scowled. “Of course we are, you moron. We’re going back on. Just like...make them beg for it a little bit.”

“Why?” Aang was following Sokka’s lead, but more stork-like, his head sliding back and forth as he tried to look over as much of the crowd as he possibly good. The clapping and cheering grew louder, more insistent.

“Because they like it when they feel like they worked for it,” Zuko said.

“Okay, fine.” Sokka rubbed his palms on his jeans. “So how long do we wait?”

Aang checked his watch. “Another thirty seconds or so would probably do it.”

It turned out to be another twenty-five, when Katara finally said, “Okay, now.” She didn't know why, it just seemed like the right amount of time.

They tramped back out onto the stage, waving, and the sound was like a tidal wave of approval. Katara kept smiling. She couldn’t stop. No one had ever cheered like this for her — for them — before, and she could really learn to enjoy it.

They played two songs. When they ended the second, the cheers were so loud Katara’s ears ached. Aang turned to her, meeting her gaze, his eyes bright and vivid. She smiled. He crossed the stage to her, arms open.

Hugging. A typical Aang reaction to being excited. Katara kept smiling.

He pulled her against him. His skinny arms wrapped around her waist, not her shoulders. There was a second of worry. 

Then he kissed her.

On the mouth.

In front of five hundred people.

That was when Katara realized that yeah, Aang was probably into her.


	22. Chapter 22

The cheering of the crowd seemed far away, muffled. Zuko watched Katara’s face, her wide eyes, the way her hands came up to Aang’s chest, palms flat, elbows locked by her sides. Her fingers flexed.

Aang pulled away, beaming.

Katara offered him a wan smile that didn’t match her eyes. Her long lashes fluttered as wrinkles formed around her eyebrows. She took a step back from Aang, still smiling, and walked straight off the stage, past Zuko, without looking at anyone.

“Shit,” Zuko said.

“What happened?” Toph felt around, her fingers brushing the high hat. “What’s going on? Something happened didn’t it. Why is everyone making weird noises?

The noises were a chorus of “awws”, some awkward coughing and giggling, and Suki yelling, “Oh, fuck you, Aang!”

Zuko reached out and took Toph’s hand to help her out from behind the kit as Aang, still waving, followed Katara into the wings.

Toph squeezed Zuko’s hand. “Dude, what  _ happened _ ?”

Zuko turned to her. His stomach was roiling with what he was going to call nerves and not jealousy — even though it was almost certainly jealousy — and his hands shook. Katara looked  _ mad _ . It was a good thing Aang had left because Zuko was really considering punching him in his little boy face.

“Aang kissed Katara,” he growled at Toph.

“Ah, fuck,” said Toph. “That fucking dumb sack of shit.” She chewed the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. “Is she mad?”

“She’s smiling.”

“Yikes.” Toph’s chewing grew more intense. “In a good way or a ‘murder later’ way?”

“I think it’s the second one.” He hoped it was the second one. And not just because of that emerging angry possessiveness that he’d thought he’d trained out of himself years ago. He took a deep breath. She was an adult woman and she could do what she wanted, but also Aang … why would a smart kid do something so monumentally stupid?

“Let’s go,” Toph said. “We gotta get back there before she murders him and ruins the band.”

Sokka walked by with the angry strut of a brother on a mission and Zuko reached out, grabbing the back of Sokka’s sweatshirt. Sokka rounded on him, mouth open, eyes full of anger. Zuko shook his head.

“I’m gonna kick his —” Sokka said.

“You stay here,” Toph said, still holding on to Zuko’s hand. Her bitten nails scraped against the back of his fingers. “We don’t need your overprotective older brother bullshit. Go talk to Suki. Zuko, what does Suki look like?”

Zuko turned. Suki was heading for the door to the backstage, face a mask of determination. “I think she’s more dangerous than all of us combined,” he said.

Toph nodded as though she’d expected that answer. “Sokka, go hang out with Suki until we get this sorted out.”

Sokka smacked a palm into his chest. “She’s  _ my _ sister!”

“Yeah, and out of all of us, she’s probably the most capable of caring for herself.” Toph bared her teeth, something between a smile and a growl. “Just deal with Suki, okay?”

Sokka wavered, then nodded. “Kick his teeth in,” he told Zuko. “You know. If he deserves it.”

“Uh, sure,” said Zuko.

Sokka hopped off the stage and ran after Suki, catching her just before she went backstage. Toph tugged on Zuko’s hand, and he led her into the dark corridors behind the wings, their feet making  _ shush shush _ sounds on the worn carpet.

By the time the reached the green room, Katara was already screaming.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Her voice was high pitched, a tone of manic rage that even Zuko hadn’t heard from her. He pushed the door open with his free hand, but didn’t enter. For his own safety.

Katara paced back and forth, shoulders up and back, chest puffed out. Her gestures were pointed and aggressive, hands like weapons.

Aang, in contrast, was completely still, hands locked in front of him. Only his eyes moved, following Katara’s back and forth progress across the room.

“You can’t just do that!” Katara waved her arms. “I don’t know if you thought I was down, but I was  _ not _ and you didn’t even know because you didn’t bother to check! With all those people watching?”

“I didn’t think —“ Aang started.

“That’s right!” Katara jabbed her finger into Aang’s chest. He rocked back, then caught himself. “You didn’t think! And that’s the problem!”

“Come on, Katara.” Aang sighed. “I’m sorry if I offended you but —“

“You didn’t  _ offend _ me, Aang, you pulled some unacceptable douchebag bullshit and it was 100%  _ not okay _ .” Katara tossed her hair back from her shoulders. Color burned in her dark cheeks. “What on earth gave you the idea I would want that?”

Aang shuffled his feet. “I just...really like you.”

“If you liked me, you’d respect me enough to give me a say in the matter!” Katara yelled.

Aang looked up and spotted Zuko still standing in the doorway. His face brightened. “Zuko told me to.”

Katara whirled, her hair flaring out like a dragon’s crest. Zuko raised his hands. “I absolutely did  _ not _ tell him to do that,” he told her, not looking at Aang. He didn’t care what Aang thought of him, not right now. Not when he was ready to punch Aang in the mouth for a stunt like that. “I told him to talk to you. I didn't tell him to...to…”

He trailed off, unable to find words that didn’t make her sound like a victim. The rage in her eyes was very un-victim-like.

“But you said I should do something!” Aang said, a hint of a whine in his voice.

Zuko’s gaze snapped up to Aang’s face. “Yeah, and obviously I meant you should communicate your feelings to Katara with  _ words _ like an adult, not take advantage of a massive audience so you didn’t get punched. Come on, dude.”

Aang looked down at Katara. “Wait, were you going to punch me?”

Katara put both her hands in the middle of Aang’s chest and shoved. He fell backwards onto a rickety wooden chair, just barely catching himself with one hand braced against the wall. “Yes!” she yelled at him. “Yeah, I was definitely going to punch you, but there were five hundred fucking people out there and they’re our  _ fan base _ and I can’t believe you used them to cover your ass!”

“I didn’t!” Aang’s voice cracked on the last word. The enormity of Katara’s anger seemed to be dawning on him. His cloud gray eyes flickered around the room as though looking for escape, but there was nothing. Not with Zuko still looming in the doorway. And he didn’t at all feel like getting out of the way.

Aang dropped his head. “That is, I didn’t mean to.”

“I don’t care what you meant to do.” Katara’s chest heaved as she breathed, like she’d just run a marathon and was ready to do another. “You did it. And it was super,  _ super _ uncool and really just …” She broke off, and turned, huffing. In the glare of the light, the glistening of her eyes could have been mistaken for glare. She didn’t look at Aang. “I trusted  you,” she said in a small voice. “I trusted our friendship.”

Aang crumpled like a wet paper towel, his limbs going limp over the chair. His back arched, folding down over his knees. “Oh, no,” he whispered. “Katara, I … I’m so sorry.”

“I need some air.” Katara stood up, sniffling and not making eye contact with anyone. She walked towards the door and Zuko got out of her way immediately. The gleam of tears on her eyelashes made his own throat close up.

A silence fell over the green room as Katara’s footsteps faded away. Zuko hoped she’d go out the back. If she passed Sokka, looking like that, there was no way Aang would make it out of here alive tonight.

“You seriously fucked up,” Toph told Aang.

He smiled, barely visible beneath the shadow of his nose. It was a sad smile. “No sympathy from you either, huh?”

“Literally never.” Toph tossed her head, bangs flying. “Zuko, go check on Katara. Aang and I are about to have a long conversation about  _ boundaries _ .”

Zuko left. He wanted to have it out with Aang just as much as Toph did, but Toph had dibs. For one, she knew Aang better, longer, and probably wouldn’t punch him right in the throat because of stupid emotions. For another, Zuko really wanted to go make sure Katara wasn’t crying. He didn’t know if she was capable of tears, nor did he want to find out, but still. It was the principal of the thing.

He headed down the hallway towards the back door, hoping against hope that she was there. His fingers found the crushed cigarette packet in the pocket of his pants and by the time he got outside, he already had one in his hands, rolling it from finger to finger, unlit.

“They sent you to check on me?” Katara sounded surprised, and a little watery. She sat on the asphalt with her back against the brick back side of Moon Fish. “I figured they’d have at least gotten someone I don’t want to punch most of the time.”

Zuko groaned and sat down next to her, far enough away that no part of his body would touch her. He didn't think he could stand that right now. “I think they hoped you’d be able to take some of your anger out by kicking the crap out of me, if you feel like it,” he said. Bending his head, he lit the cigarette and blew smoke into the warm night.

Katara held out her hand. “Give me that.”

He looked at her askance. She’d never made a secret of her dislike of his habit. “I don't think that’s a good idea.”

“It’s just a cigarette, Zuko. How much can it hurt?” She crooked her fingers. “Come on.”

“Have you ever smoked before?”

“No. I’ll figure it out.”

He still didn’t give it to her, keeping it near his mouth so she couldn’t get to it. “You’re going to cough up a lung and feel even worse. I’m not letting you do that.”

She pursed her lips. “What, you get to decide what I’m allowed to do now? Do the men in my life just make  _ all _ my decisions for me?”

“It’s my damn cigarette.”

“And it’s my lungs.” She made a swipe for it and Zuko pulled his hand away. Her fingertips brushed his wrist, a sudden reminder of the second she’d held his hand, drunk in Suki’s apartment. Now he was even more glad he hadn’t kissed her then. Take that, libedo.

Annoyed, Zuko thrust the cigarette at her, not wanting her to touch him again — it confused his emotional state too much. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he told her.

She took it awkwardly between two fingers. “What do I do?”

Zuko laughed. “Breathe it in. Just a little. Kind of...pull the smoke into your mouth like it’s water and then hold it there for a second so it cools down. Then breathe it in.”

Katara looked at the cigarette as though it might explode, then brought it to her lips and breathed in, just a little as instructed. She made a face and immediately spat a blobby cloud of smoke back out. It hadn’t even made it into her lungs. “That tastes like ass.”

“Yeah, I know.” Zuko took the cigarette back, though Katara looked like she might murder him. “It’s not supposed to taste good. It’s a fucking drug.”

She rolled her eyes and slumped forward, extending her arms over her knees and resting her weight on them. “I could use it right now,” she said, giving the cigarette another longing look but not reaching out for it. “Too bad it isn’t as good as tequila.”

“Tequila is terrible for you,” Zuko said. “You specifically.”

He couldn’t help remembering her fingertips on his face. 

Katara laughed. It was stronger than the last time she’d done it. “You’re right.”

“First time I’ve heard you say that.”

“Probably the last too.”

They lapsed into a pregnant silence. Zuko wanted to reach out and comfort her, but this whole night had been about people doing things to her without asking, so he kept his hands to himself. Distant sirens painted the night with familiar sound. The deep, steady whir of tires on pavement made Zuko’s heartbeat slow, his breathing steady. He took another long drag, then stubbed the half-smoked cigarette out on the pavement.

“What did you do that for?” Katara asked. 

“I’m trying to quit.”

“How’s that going?”

He glared at her, wishing he’d sat on the other side so his good eye faced her. “Not great, thanks for pointing it out.”

Katara snorted.

Zuko began to wish he hadn’t put it out, just so he had something to do with his hands. Screw quitting. This was becoming awkward.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Katara asked.

Zuko’s heart rate skyrocketed. How did she know? “Tell you what?” he asked carefully.

“About Aang.” She narrowed her eyes. “Obviously.”

“Oh.” So it hadn’t been some sudden ESP telling her how much he thought about her, about the curve of her lips and the shine of her hair. The smell of her. Of course not. It was about normal, sane things. “I figured you knew at least subconsciously. And I thought he’d tell you. Like, actually tell you, not...pull this kind of bullshit.”

“You don’t know Aang very well.”

“Guess not.”

Katara put her chin down on her knees, her mouth disappearing behind her elbows. She stared morosely at the opposite side of the parking lot — another building made of brick and stone. “I’m not into him,” she said.

“I kind of picked that up.”

“I love him, sure. But not like that. Not romantically.” SHe shook her head. “He’s basically my best friend. I’ve known him forever and ever. I don’t know how I missed this.”

Zuko sighed. “What you gotta understand is dudes are idiots. They’ll nurse all this internal emotional bullshit and never talk about it, and then it explodes all over and other people get hurt.” He shrugged. “My sister thinks it's because men are the weaker sex.”

“Do you agree with that?”

“Oh, yeah, absolutely.” Zuko shook his head. “Azula’s insane and a total shithead, but she’s right on that one. Men are delicate little soap bubbles full of drama and repression. We’re honestly an embarrassment to society and I’d like to personally apologize.”

“So not only are they idiots, they’re annoying idiots.” Katara took a long breath. “I guess I should have known.”

“But you didn’t. And he should have made sure you knew.” Zuko shook his head. “If I pulled that kind of shit on my ex, she’d have cut out my kidneys.”

“Mai?” Katara peered nat him over her arm, her eyes wide and blue even in the darkness. “The hot girl with the depression bangs?”

Zuko snorted. “That would be the one.”

“The one yelling at you after we played Black Sun.”

That made Zuko wince. “I was actually hoping no one had seen that, but again, yes, that’s the one. I don’t know why she keeps coming to my shows. No Azula, but Mai? And Ty Lee? What are they looking for?”

“You think your ex girlfriend is stalking you?” Katara grinned. “Isn’t that a little full of yourself?”

“I think my ex girlfriend is stalking me because my sister is trying to ruin my life,” Zuko amended, waving his fingers at Katara. But she was smiling. He’d do anything to see her smile, he realized, which was super embarrassing. God, why couldn’t he kill his emotional attachment? Or why couldn't it have been to someone who wasn’t such a hipster girl. It was really stifling his punker cred.

A companionable silence descended on them. Katara’s knees relaxed and one bumped against Zuko’s. He pulled away, then regretted it. But it hadn’t seemed intentional on her part and the last thing she needed right now was another dude trying to take advantage of situations.

“It was a good show,” Katara said. “Up until the end.”

“Yeah, it was.”

Katara dropped her head abruptly, curls falling over her knees. Her hands still stuck out in front of her. “Am I going to have to apologize to him?” she asked, voice muffled.

“What?” Zuko straightened. “No. Of course not.”

One hand came back to brush hair out of her face. A single blue eye flashed out of the tangle of braids. “But the band. We have to make sure it doesn’t fall apart. It’s not fair to any of us if it does. I don’t want this to go the way of Fleetwood Mac or anything. Slowly crumbling internally because of interpersonal stupidity.”

Zuko shook his head. “No one is married and nothing’s long term. It’s not going to go like that just because you’re not into Aang. Or it shouldn’t. I mean, unless he turns out to be Thurston Moore levels of asshole, and that’s really difficult to achieve.”

Katara snorted and tossed her hair back. Frizzy curls stuck to her cheeks and she scraped them away with her nails. “Yeah, I guess maybe I’m being a little dramatic.”

“You’re allowed some drama.”

Katara sighed. “Okay. So no apologizing?”

“No.” Zuko rested his elbows on his knees. “There’s no reason to apologize in the first place. And beside that, I don’t think apologies are really in your nature.”

Katara made a face, her features pursing as though she’d bitten into a lemon. “You don't need to rub it in.”

“You’re tougher than you look.”

She focused on him for the first time in a while, her whole attention locking on Zuko’s face. Immediately, nervousness ran up Zuko’s spine, making his arms lock in against his chest. “Did you think I wasn’t tough?” she asked.

Her voice was soft. It didn’t sound like Zuko was about to walk into a trap, but he was worried anyway. 

She must have picked up on it, because she grinned at him. “I’m not gonna get mad.”

“You act tough,” Zuko said carefully as though picking his way through a potential minefield. “You don’t look it. With, you know. The girly thing.” He waved a hand at her skirt.

“What, the tattoos aren’t enough?” Katara held up one arm.

“No, I mean, the tattoos are awesome. But anyone can have tattoos, right?”

Katara leaned her chin on her knees. “You know, they used to do it with thread and campfire soot,” she said, running a hand down the opposite wrist, over the lines ringing her arms. “Back when my grandmother got hers. The women of my family are tough. Survivors. They’d be embarrassed I didn’t punch Aang in the face.”

“You don’t seem much like a puncher,” Zuko said.

“Not unless I’m really provoked.”

He grinned. “I’m glad I haven’t seen that side of you. Obviously I know better about your toughness now. Color me suitably scared.”

Katara grinned. Continued smiling. Always good.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked.

The question took Zuko off guard. The obvious reason, that she could never know, was that he couldn’t stop thinking about her. That all of a sudden, this woman he’d wanted to shove off a balcony was important to him. But he hoped that wasn’t the only reason. What would it say about him if the only people he wanted to help were people he also wanted to sleep with?

He looked away, examining a collection of tiny rocks butted up against the brick wall. They blurred in his vision as he concentrated on other things than his sight.

“Because you’d do the same for me,” he said, and believed it wholeheartedly.

“But I’m so mean to you,” Katara said.

He didn’t look at her. “Yeah, but if push came to shove, you’d help me. You stood up to Azula for me, even though you didn’t have to.”

“I stood up for myself.”

“Sure. That too.”

She grinned at him. That smile she’d given him the night at Suki’s apartment, the bright, soft smile that she never gave him. Zuko’s stomach twisted and burst into butterflies. “I’m glad you’ve figured out that I wasn’t a pushover.”

“Oh, I never thought you were that. You decided you didn’t like me and were ready to physically fight me.” Zuko shrugged. “I just thought you were...you know. Emotional.”

“I am.”

“Yeah, but you don’t want other people to fix your emotions for you.” He dropped his head so it smacked into the upraised backs of his hands, where they rested on his knees. “Ugh, this is all coming out wrong. I’m trying to compliment you on being self-sufficient and I keep implying that you’re flighty or needy. I’m sorry I’m so terrible with words.”

Katara laughed. “You really are.”

He glared. “Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

Katara got up. “I’m going to head home. I don’t want to deal with Aang yet. Can you make sure someone gets my keyboard packed up right? Sokka knows how to do it if you need help.”

Zuko almost offered to drive her home, just to spend a little more time with her, but no, they’d both brought their own cars. It couldn’t work. Silently, he cursed himself for that. They could all have gone together if he hadn’t upset her — about whatever it was — back at the practice room. But it was too late. She was already standing, brushing off her skirt and the backs of her thighs. 

He pulled himself to his feet. “Okay, yeah. I’ll make sure we clean your shit up for you.”

Katara rolled her eyes. She reached out and squeezed his bicep, releasing it quickly. “Thanks for checking on me,” she said. “And not yelling. I don’t think I could have dealt with anything like Sokka’s personally offended brother bullshit right now.”

“Uh, yeah.” Her touch had scrambled Zuko’s brain. “Yeah, it’s no problem. Have a nice night.” He cleared his throat. “If you’re still mad in the morning, come by the shop and my uncle will make you a nice cup of calming tea. He likes you. I’m sure he’d love to chat.”

Smooth. Make it sound like it was Zuko’s aging uncle who wanted to hang out with Katara. Subtle. Zuko winced internally. He really did sound like an idiot.

“Okay.” Katara smiled and walked off into the semi-darkness, her skirt swaying.

Zuko rubbed a hand over his eyes. “You idiot,” he muttered to himself, before turning around and heading back into Moon Fish to deal with the rest of the fallout.

Shockingly, it seemed that neither Sokka nor Katara herself had been the most angry at Aang, because when Zuko returned to the green room, he found Sokka physically dragging Suki out of the green room. She was still yelling, her mussed hair and wild eyes filling out the full image of a rocker ready for some blood.

“Don’t you ever fucking do that to someone,  _ ever _ !” Suki yelled, getting a hand free to wave back towards the door. “I don’t give a shit what you think is okay, because that’s fucking not — Sokka, let  _ go _ of me, I’m going to kick his ass.”

“Yeah, I’m with you on this, but you can’t actually do it.” Sokka was taller and broader than Suki, but he was having serious trouble holding her back. He gritted his teeth. “Suki, calm the hell down!”

Suki spotted Zuko. “Good! You can kill him for me, because this fucking asshole won’t let me,” she spat.

“Katara would be mad if I killed him,” Zuko said. His voice darkened significantly now that he wasn’t around Katara herself, watching his reactions so as not to upset her. Or maybe it was just Suki’s anger rubbing off on him. “She went home.”

“So she won’t know.” Suki kept struggling.

“Zuko, give me a hand here,” Sokka panted. “It’s like trying to hold on to a moose-lion.”

“I would let her have one punch,” Zuko said loudly, hoping Aang was close enough to hear. The kid needed the fear of something put into him, and an angry woman in leather pants might be just the thing.

“You’re not helping!” Sokka snapped.

“One punch?” It was Toph, out of sight, still in the green room. “Yeah, I think we all deserve one of those.”

Zuko realized that it was quickly turning into a punker, a rocker, and a metalhead — three people who had probably been in their share of bar fights — against a marching band nerd. Clearly there was an advantage on one side. “Suki, no offense meant, but you’ll actually murder him,” Zuko said. “Stay here.”

And with that, he stepped into the green room, closed the door in Suki’s red face, and locked it.

Something hit the door behind him, hard, and there was a screech of rage. “You’d better kill him!” Suki yelled through the wood.

“Yeah, okay!” Zuko yelled back.

He turned and took stock of the situation. Aang stood in a corner, which he probably wasn’t in by choice. It did look like the most protected place in the room, behind a chair with easy access to the bathroom if he needed to run and hide.

Toph was sitting. Which should have been unassuming, given that she was five feet tall and blind, but the way she sat — knees spread, shoulders squared, cane laid across her lap — was exactly the opposite of unthreatening. She stood there like a guard, making sure Aang didn’t leave.

“Katara went home,” Zuko told Aang.

“Everyone wants to murder me,” Aang said.

“Can you blame them?”

Aang bit his lip. “I thought she’d...you know. Be into it.”

“No woman is into suprise kisses in front of people,” Toph said. “No man. No  _ anyone _ .” She snorted. “And you know that. You just couldn’t read a signal if it punched you in the face.”

“I’m not worried about signals punching me in the face,” Aang said, swallowing. “I’m worried about Suki.”

“A reasonable fear,” Toph said.

Aang looked up at Zuko. “Are you going to try to punch me too?” he asked.

Zuko rubbed his hand over his face. “Aang, if I was going to punch you, I wouldn’t need to try,” he said, sitting down on the couch. His limbs felt heavy as the adrenaline rushing through his veins began to ebb. Everything hurt. His shoulders ached from the show. His shirt was soaked in cooling sweat and he probably smelled like a locker room. 

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Aang said.

“No one’s trying to make you feel better,” Toph snapped.

Zuko considered glaring at her, but it was too much work and she wouldn’t even see it. “Toph, I don’t think that’s particularly helpful right now,” he said.

“Makes me feel good.”  
“I understand the impulse but just...can you be quiet for a second?”

Muttering, Toph sank down into the couch and Zuko turned his full attention to Aang. For once, Aang’s face didn’t look confused or beautific, the two expressions Zuko associated with him the most. Instead, his face curled into a mix of angry eyebrows, worried pursed lips, and the anxious eyes of someone who’d realized that what they’d done had been really,  _ really _ bad.

“Aang,” Zuko said softly, “you really blew the pooch on this one, man.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to figure that out.” Aang ran his tongue over his lower lip, which had the reddened look of being well chewed. “Look, I guess I’m just really bad at reading women. I thought…” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, does it. Whatever I thought. I just really messed up.”

“Yeah, that’s about the long and short of it,” Zuko said.

“I thought that’s what you meant!” Aang dropped his head, rubbing his thin hands over the sparse hair on his scalp. Against his especially pale skin, the blue-gray of his birthmark stood out in heavy prominence, bisecting his scalp. “I thought some kind of big romantic gesture would be just the kind of thing to … I don’t know, impress her, I guess.”

“Romance is all well and good,” said Zuko, who sucked at it, “but there’s also the little issue of making sure that’s what she wants.” He sighed. “I’m not going to make you feel better about this, dude. It wasn’t a kosher thing to do. Just like, don’t kiss people without their permission, okay?”

“Okay,” Aang said in a tiny voice like a child. He wrapped his arms around his stomach, chest bowing and sinking into itself. “So I don’t get the girl, huh?”

“No, dude.” Zuko rolled his eyes. “You give the girl space.” He sighed. “Come on. I’ll drive you two home so you don’t have to ride with Sokka. He’ll probably murder you.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Aang stood up. “I’ll...get my stuff. I should apologize to him too. I should do that.”

“You should,” Zuko agreed. “But first I’m going to make sure Suki’s not going to kill you.”

Aang nodded and stepped into the bathroom. Zuko exited the room to find Sokka and Suki sitting on the carpeted floor. Suki was in Sokka’s lap, which Sokka seemed both pleased about and scared of. She still had that wild look on her face and Zuko was pretty sure she was only there because she’d gotten tired and Sokka wasn’t willing to let go of her for safety reasons.

“Hey.” Zuko looked down at them. “Look, I’m going to take Aang and Toph home.”

Sokka’s mouth twisted. 

“He wants to apologize to you,” Zuko said.

“He can go fuck himself right up his stupid little ass,” Suki said, fire bursting into life in her eyes.

“Yeah, why don’t you come with me to go coil up some mic cables, okay?” Zuko held out a hand to help Suki up. For a second, she stared at it like he held a snake, but then gingerly took it.

“I hope you didn’t tell him it was all okay,” Suki growled, pulling herself to her feet. Her combat boots squeaked against the rubber baseboards.

“I told him he fucked up,” Zuko said, dropping Suki’s hand immediately because the look Sokka was giving him behind Suki’s head could have peeled paint. “Come on. Let them deal.”

Suki followed him silently, hands shoved deep into the pockets of her letterman jacket. The venue was empty, though the sound engineer was busily coiling up cables and tying them up with black tie line. The Dresden Dolls played over the venue speaker system. The engineer gave them a raised eyebrow and threw her braids over her shoulders, nodding briefly before going back to her coiling.

Zuko slid his own guitar into the case first, setting it off to the side. He turned his attention to Katara’s keyboard next, since he’d specifically promised her he’d get it. A tapping alerted him to Toph’s presence; she emerged from the wings and made her way to her drum stool by touch, settling herself onto it.

Suki sighed and got to work moving amps to the back of the stage.

“I couldn't be in there,” Toph said. “They were having a really emotional heart to heart.”

“Yeah, emotions are basically your kryptonite,” Suki said.

“Yup,” Toph said. “Though Zuko’s doing a fantastic job of being both condemning and supportive, given his double stake in this situation?”

“Double stake?” Suki looked at Zuko, head cocked to the side. She seemed to be settling down a little, but Zuko really worried that wild anger would turn on him at any second. “What does he have in this?”

“Oh,” said Toph, “he’s like, madly in love with Katara. Didn’t you know?”

Suki’s head shot up. “What?”

“Toph, could you let this go for once in your life?” Zuko growled. “Just like, pretend to be a decent person. There’s already enough drama in this band without you making stuff up.”

Toph stuck her tongue out. “Zuko. Come on. Look me in the eye and tell me that you’re not into Katara.”

“How would you know if I was looking you in the eye?” Zuko zipped up the case for Katara’s keyboard and attached the stand to it. He folded the stool and placed it next to it.

“Sounds like you’re making excuses.”

Zuko sighed.

“Come on,” Toph wheedled.

He couldn’t look at her, or at Suki. Instead, he stared down at his still hands on Katara’s keyboard case. She’d stitched blue and grey designs across it — a bear, like the statue in her apartment; a full moon; a double swirl like a stylized ocean wave. He ran his fingers over the last one.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I like her. Are you fucking happy?”

“You owe me twenty bucks,” Toph said.

Zuko looked up, but she wasn’t talking to him. Her attention was on Suki, who, grumbling, dragged out her wallet, fished out a bill, and shoved it into Toph’s waiting hand.

“Were you betting on how I felt about Katara?” Zuko said, his voice going up a few notes as anger built in his chest.

“No.” Toph pocketed the money. “We were betting on whether or not you’d admit it.”

“I had you at another month at least,” Suki said. “Why’d you have to be more emotionally mature than expected?”

“That’s just … just … “ Zuko shook his head. “I can’t even believe that you’d … “

“Don’t worry.” Suki tucked a microphone away in Aang’s case, next to another identical one already nestled in the foam. “We’ve got Katara’s admission about a year out. When’s your bet, Toph?”

“Around the time the sun explodes,” Toph said. “She’s so  _ shit _ at her own internal stuff. Probably because she’s so busy with everyone else’s.”

Zuko shook his head. “You two are terrible,” he told them. “Just the worst.”

Both girls gave him identical looks of smug confidence. “Toph, show me where your drum boxes are,” Suki said, and they trotted back into the wings, leaving Zuko on the stage.

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. When he looked up, the sound engineer was shaking her head.

“What?” he snapped.

“Don’t look at me,” the engineer said. She didn't look away from the red cable in her hands, just raised a single unimpressed eyebrow. “I just work here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was one cliff hanger I didn't want to leave out there for too long. Just to really remind everyone that it's not cool to kiss people who don't want you to kiss them.
> 
> I've played up Suki's temper a little more throughout this story. I know it could be considered out of character and I respect that complaint, but Suki as "bro chick who will fight you" is going to continue because she's only in eleven episodes and I want more over-protective Suki, damn it.
> 
> (Weirdly enough, the biggest worry in writing this chapter was the use of the word "kosher" because does that even exist in Avatar? Probably not. But I'm a Jew and I just can't help myself.)


	23. Chapter 23

For the first time in her life, Katara walked into the Jasmine Dragon without a hangover. Zuko wasn’t behind the counter and she was instead met with Iroh’s jubilant smile. “Miss Katara!” He clapped his hands. “Please sit, right there, yes.” He waved his hand to the counter stool. “What would you like? Hmm, let me guess.” He rubbed his chin. “You look to me like a  _ shou mei _ woman.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Katara took a seat and looked around. The clientele was basically the same as it had been the last time she was here; students and retirees, bent over novels or newspapers. Some typed away with reckless abandon on thin laptops. One skinny man wrote in a lined notebook with a fountain pen.

Iroh took down a blue and white pot from a shelf and took the small lid off. He peered inside, then selected a mason jar of tea leaves. Unscrewing the lid, he held it out to her. “Smell.”

Katara leaned forward to smell the leaves. The odor of fall and delicate fruit slipped up her nose and she sighed out the breath. “That smells lovely,” she told Iroh.

He nodded as though he knew what she’d been about to say. “White Peony,” he told her. “Strong for a white tea. Needs careful brewing to bring out the sweetness.” He winked. “A strong, gentle tea for a strong, gentle girl.”

Katara blushed.

Iroh turned back and measured out a spoonful of tea into the little pot. He added water and set a small timer beside it, counting down. “Are you here to see my nephew?” Iroh asked, turning back to Katara.

For some reason, Katara didn’t want to answer in the affirmative, even though there would be no other real reason for her to be here. “I was told to come to you for some calming tea,” she said. 

“Are  you in need of calming?” Iroh asked, his white eyebrows furrowing.

The timer went off. In a flash, Iroh reached for the teapot, pulling the strainer from it and resting it on a ceramic plate. He put the top on the pot and placed it in front of her, adding a tiny blue cup. “There you are,” he said, smiling. “Perfect.”

Katara smiled back. It was impossible not to.

“But what does a strong young woman like yourself need with calming tea?” Iroh asked. His tone was one of a man who really cared about the answer, something Katara wasn’t sure she’d expected from someone related to both Zuko and Ozai. But there was nothing hidden in his face, just genuine concern.

“I had a fight with our singer,” Katara said, not wanting to go into the embarrassing details. She’d spent her morning in bed with a pillow over her face, both humiliated— at being kissed and at her own reaction — and still angry. She had no regrets about what she’d said to Aang, but on the other hand, she felt like she  _ should _ . The push and pull of conflicting expectations made her head ache.

“Ah, the young man with the birthmark.” Iroh nodded. “But you two are good friends, are you not?”

“He did something I didn’t want him to do,” Katara said. “He um...invaded my personal space.”

“He kissed you,” Iroh said. “And from your reaction, I see you did not want him to.”

Katara’s face flared with blood, something she wished would stop happening so much. “How did you know that?” she asked.

Iroh smiled conspiratorially and leaned towards her. “I came to your show,” he said, voice low. “It was a big break and I wished to support my nephew. Also you are very good and I enjoy hearing you play.” He tapped the side of his nose. “Please do not tell Zuko I was there. He is very shy about his music. My brother did not like me to come to his shows when he was in Burn Bitches with Azula, but now I am free to do what I want.”

Katara put a hand over her mouth. It was probably the sweetest thing she’d ever heard in her entire life. “Zuko’s very lucky to have you,” she told him.

“No, not at all.” Iroh shook his head. “I am lucky to have  _ him _ .”

A lump formed in Katara’s throat. No wonder Zuko talked about his uncle the way he did. The man had to be some kind of saint. She was struck with the sudden urge to hug him, but couldn’t because of the counter in between them.

“So that is how I know about the kiss,” Iroh said. “Also because Zuko told me about it this morning. He was very upset.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m glad he’s broadcasting my business all over the place,” Katara grumbled.

“Please do not blame him,” Iroh told her. “He was concerned about your well being.”

That was sort of nice. It was a little strange that Zuko was suddenly worried about her, and that Katara was touched by the worry, but a lot of things were strange these days.

“You should pour your tea soon,” Iroh said. “It is best if you enjoy it hot.”

Katara did as she was told, placing one hand on top of the teapot to pour the light liquid into her cup. 

“Uncle!” Zuko stepped through the curtains over the kitchen door, wiping his hands on his dark apron. “The delivery just came in and there’s something wrong with the —” He saw Katara and though his expression didn’t change, his eyes brightened in a way that made Katara’s stomach turn over. In kind of a pleasant way. She beat it down — what was wrong with her?

“Katara, hey.” Zuko came over and leaned a hip against the counter across from her. “I’m glad you came in. Did Uncle Iroh get you something good?”

“ _ Shou mei _ , I think,” she told him.

Zuko nodded. “Good. How are you feeling?”

Katara shrugged. “Better. Still … not great.”

“Zuko,” Iroh said with some urgency, “the delivery?”

Zuko turned. “Oh. Yeah, um, they’ve mixed something up. I don’t know what you ordered but the delivery guy’s freaking out and you should go talk to him.”

Huffing and muttering to himself, Iroh bustled into the kitchen. The curtains twitched closed behind him. Zuko didn’t move away. He reached over and snagged a wicker basket lined with a cloth napkin and filled with round cakes. “ _ Shaobing _ ?” he asked, plucking one out and offering it to her. “On the house.”

She took it, careful not to touch his fingers. “You have to stop giving me stuff for free,” she admonished him, even as she bit into the cake, the sesame seeds crunching beneath her teeth. It was full of sweet tea olives. 

Zuko shrugged. “Uncle’s just glad I have friends. If he could, he’d feed you all so much free food, you’d be as round as he is.”

Katara grinned and licked sesame seeds from the corner of her mouth. Zuko’s eyes flickered to her tongue and then immediately away. He cleared his throat. “So, um, have you talked to Aang?”

“No. He tried to call but I didn’t answer.” Katara shook her head. “I’m not mad at him anymore. Well, I’m upset. But I just don’t want to talk to him yet.”

“He probably wanted to complain about everyone getting mad at him,” Zuko said. “I swear, I thought Suki was going to literally rip his head off.” He shook his head. “You’ve got a good friend there. A scary one who I wouldn’t want to tangle with in a dark alley, but she’s very protective of you.”

“Great, now I need everyone to protect me.”

Zuko snorted. “You don’t  _ need  _ anyone to protect you,” he said in a voice that brooked no argument. “But take it from me. Sometimes it’s nice to have someone else do it for you.”

That felt better to Katara’s pride. She took another bite of the  _ shaobing _ . Then a sip of her tea, which was just as good as Iroh had promised; strong but full of fruits and florals. When she looked up, Zuko was fiddling with the hem of his apron, eyes locked on his fingers.

“Hey, so uh…” He cleared his throat. “I just … wondered … “

The door banged open. “Zuko!” called a high, clear voice that Katara recognized instantly. Zuko’s spine straightened, his shoulders rolling back and hands clenching. 

Katara didn’t even need to turn around to know it was Azula, but she turned anyway. To keep a better eye on Zuko’s crazy sister.

The first thing Katara noticed was how  _ good _ Azula looked. She wore six inch black stilettos with spikes — actual metal spikes — covering the heels. From there, it was a lot of leg, a nearly insignificant amount of leather skirt, and a shirt that had probably once had a back and extended past her rib cage, but now did neither. Her hair swept up onto the back of her head, making her look even taller.

“Damn it,” said Katara. She leaned her elbow on the counter, trying her best to be exactly the opposite of Zuko’s manic tension. “And I was trying to have a better day than yesterday.”

Azula stalked across the tea shop, her heels clicking on the wooden floor with the force of a series of missile strikes. Behind her, momentarily eclipsed by her sheer force of personality, came the other girls in Burn Bitches. Mai, the ex, dressed like a Siouxsie Sioux impersonator, and Ty Lee who actually smiled and seemed way nicer than the other two. 

Sparing only a glance for Katara, Azula zeroed in on Zuko. They had the same eyes, Katara noticed; bright and hard like tiger’s eye. “We need to talk,” she said.

“So talk.”

Azula rolled her eyes. “Not here. Come with me.”

“I’m at work,” Zuko said. Katara only heard him use that dark voice on his sister; it was the kind of tone that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. “Some of us need jobs. We can’t suckle off Dad’s teat anymore.”

Azula waved one hand, every black nail immaculate and identical. “Don’t be crude, Zuzu. Come along. The old man can look after his own shop for a few minutes. And the girls here can get acquainted with your unpleasant little hipster friend.”

Zuko’s eyes flicked to Katara. “No,” he said. “I don’t want her alone with them.”

“Don’t you trust us?” Mai asked.

“I really don’t.”

“Why don’t you go talk to her so she stops whining?” Katara said, glancing up at Azula and then away as though she was bored. In fact, her heart was hammering. “Besides, people are starting to stare.”

It was true. One of the writers had even managed to pull out a headphone in order to watch the conversation.

“Not good for business,” Katara pointed out.

It wasn’t that she wanted Zuko to be alone with Azula. Not at all. But she didn’t want to ruin Iroh’s tea shop atmosphere even more. 

“I’ll play with these two,” she told him, waving a hand at Mai and Ty Lee.

Zuko looked from Katara to Mai with something approaching horror.

“Well, now that she’s given you  _ permission _ ,” Azula huffed, “come on. Before I have to drag you.”

She beckoned. Zuko looked at Katara. “Will you be all right?”

“I can handle a try-too-hard goth and her preppy friend,” Katara said. “In my sleep.”

She wasn’t sure she believed it, but she knew what she needed to say.

Zuko hesitated for a second, then pushed the  _ shaobing _ at her. “Don’t let them have any,” he said and followed Azula out the front door.

* * *

Even though it was early in the day, it was already hot outside. The brief window of autumn seemed to be over even before it started. Sun warmed the sidewalk, slanting down into Zuko’s eyes as he shoved through the door, already ready to push Azula into the morning traffic rush if necessary.

“What do you want?” he asked, stopping far enough away from her that she wouldn't be able to put her fingernail through his eye.

Azula rolled her eyes. “All business with you, isn’t it.”

Zuko folded his arms. “I’m not in the mood for your bullshit games, Azula. I’m supposed to be working. So if  you could just cut to the chase so I can say no, that would be awesome.”

Azula waved a finger. “Oh, you won’t say no. I’m coming to you with an offer you can’t refuse, straight from Daddy.”

Zuko’s stomach clenched. “I don’t want anything from that son of a bitch.”

“Don’t talk about Grandma that way.”

“Oh, fuck you, Azula.” Zuko turned away. “And fuck him too.”

“He says he wants you to come home.”

Zuko froze. Even though he knew what his father had done — hadn’t done? — to him the night the studio burned, there was still that crying child part of him that desperately wished for Ozai’s approval. He couldn’t quite grind it out of himself, no matter how much or how often he tried. Until he had joined Avatar, he’d been evenly split inside himself about whether or not he’d want to come back to everything his father had to offer, if the opportunity presented itself.

“Daddy says he should never have let you go,” Azula said. “He’ll forgive you if you want to come back.”

_ He’ll forgive you… _

Zuko had wanted to come back  _ before _ Avatar. Now things were different.

He rounded on Azula, standing there like the beatific angel of punk rock. “He’ll  _ forgive me _ ?” he snapped. The rage that always lived somewhere in his chest flared up to bonfire levels. The edges of his vision darkened. “I don’t need his forgiveness. He needs mine.” Zuko pointed to his face and the ugly puckered scar that was familiar enough now he’d stopped noticing it … some days. “I don’t need to run back to him with  _ this _ on my face and beg him to forgive me for making him do it!”

“Stop being so overdramatic,” Azula told him with no compassion in her voice. “Daddy didn’t do that. You were too stupid to get out of a burning building.”

“Don’t kid yourself,” Zuko said. “He was there. He got himself out. Hell, he probably set that fire. We were fighting about the contract disputes, he left, next thing I know the building’s on fire and I’m the only one inside? Come on. What kind of coincidence is that?”

“Well, you shouldn’t have talked back,” Azula said.

Zuko rubbed a hand over his face. “You know what, you’re probably right. I shouldn’t have. But only because we’re both so fucking scared of that bastard that we should know better, right?”

There was a worried flicker in Azula’s eyes that quickly vanished. “Don’t be ridiculous, Zuko. I’m not scared of him.”

“You don’t need to be because you’ve never questioned a fucking thing he’s said or done since you were  _ five _ .” Zuko ran his hands over his hair. He’d never wanted Azula to get hurt when she was little. When she hadn’t done anything. But maybe that had made her blind to what their father was like. The cruelty of him.

Or maybe he’d just screwed her up in other ways. More emotional ways, the kind that were harder to see upon a quick glance. Maybe Zuko should have protected her.

Or maybe she shouldn’t have taken Ozai’s side.

Azula rolled her eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, get a therapist or something and just come home, would you? We need you.”

“Did he say that? Or are you just bullshitting me?”

“For the band, you idiot.” Azula blew a stray lock of hair out of her face. “Sure, I’m a good guitarist, but it’s cramping my style. And you always had a passion for it that I lack.”

“Wow, you lack something? I’m shocked you’d acknowledge that.”

“Obviously I make up for it in technique, you moron.” Azula shook her head. “That's not the point. Are you going to take the olive branch, or are you just going to throw it away and cry like a baby?”

Zuko shoved an index finger at her. “You can fuck right off, okay?”

Azula sighed. “Fine. You can do whatever you want. Play around with your little garbage band and go back in there to that stupid girlfriend of yours.”

“She’s not —” Zuko changed his mind. “You stay the fuck away from her, okay?”

“Did I hit a nerve?”

The bonfire in his chest flared higher. “Katara hasn’t done anything to you. Don’t you dare go near her. Don’t speak to her. Don’t even fucking look at her, okay? I don’t want to see you — any of you — at any more of our shows, or showing up randomly to our practice space. The next time I see you, I’m not going to let familial connections stop me from kicking your ass, do I make myself clear?”

“I’ve never seen you so whipped,” Azula said.

Zuko refused to rise to the bait. He turned away, yelling over his shoulder, “Just fucking stay away from Katara, all right?”

“Are you worried I’ll hurt her?”

“I don’t need to worry about her,” Zuko said, pulling open the door and looking back at Azula. “I’d worry more about what she’d do to you.”

* * *

Katara looked the two remaining members of Burn Bitches up and down, trying to look bored. While Azula was clearly going for the look of someone who would murder a man for fun, neither Mai nor Ty Lee had that kind of aura. Mai looked as bored as Katara was trying to be. She wore about twelve pounds of black liquid eyeliner and heavy black boots that could give someone a concussion if one was dropped on them. Ty Lee, on the other hand, was all smiles in her ripped shorts and neon pink fishnets. The cutest punk Katara had ever seen.

An awkward silence lapsed between them. Katra sipped at her tea. Mai glared. A lot. More glaring than Katara thought was strictly necessary under the circumstance.

“Soooo,” Ty Lee said. She bounced on her toes, the rubber soles of her red converse giving her some extra lift. “I’m Ty Lee. This is Mai. What’s your name?”

“Katara.”

“It’s so nice to meet you, Katara.” Ty Lee stuck her hand out. It took Katara a second to reach out and take it, only to be so enthusiastically shaken that she felt like her shoulder was coming out of its socket. Finally, Ty Lee released Katara’s now wobbly arm. “I’ve seen you play. Azula wouldn’t like me to say it, but she’s not here.” Ty Lee leaned in conspiratorially. “You’re pretty good.”

Mai snorted. “She’s boring.”

“Boo.” Ty Lee’s mouth formed a perfect pout. “No need for that, Queen of Darkness.”

Mai rolled her eyes. Her mouth, black with lipstick, flattened into a hard sneer. “Just because you’re too nice to tell her how it is,” Mai said.

“Ignore Mai.” Ty Lee waved a hand in Katara’s direction. “She’s just jealous. It’s really her major failing, that she gets like this when she’s even a little bit threatened.”

“Ty Lee, please,” Mai said. Katara couldn’t tell if her monotone was supposed to be angry or embarrassed or what. How on earth had Zuko dated her? How could he tell how she felt?

Her eyes flickered past the girls to the front window, where Zuko and Azula were already screaming at each other on the street like a couple of children fighting over the last cookie. Zuko had that stable, stubborn look to him, shoulders back, feet planted hard on the sidewalk. Azula had her arms folded, looking down her nose at Zuko even though — with her heels — they were of a similar height.

Ty Lee followed her gaze. “Oh, no. They need to get along better.”

“Way to state the obvious,” Mai muttered.

“Should we intervene?” Katara asked.

“No.” Ty Lee and Mai spoke in unison but with very different levels of emotion, in that Mai had none and Ty Lee had all of it. 

“You never,  _ ever _ get between those two when they’re fighting,” Ty Lee said, aghast, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. Plastic bead bracelets jangled on her wrists. “That’s the most dangerous place I could even imagine. Mai, can you think of anywhere worse?”

“Another moment of listening to  _ this one _ and her bubble gum power chords.” Mai jerked her head at Katara. “That comes to mind.”

“I’m going to ignore that.” Katara stuck her nose in the air, swirling her tea around like a wine connoisseur. “It’s beneath my dignity.”

“From where I’m standing, it doesn’t look like there’s much dignity to be had.”

Before Katara could think of a comeback, Ty Lee smacked Mai on the elbow with just the tips of her fingers — a warning rather than an actual injury. “Would you  _ please _ be nice?” she reprimanded. “I can’t even take you anywhere without you trying to start fights with people we don’t even know. We are in a  _ nice _ tea shop with  _ nice  _ people and you are not being at all nice!”

Mai rolled her eyes, there was a little hint of loosening muscles around her mouth, as though the thought of smiling had crossed her mind. Even if she didn’t do it. “Ty Lee, you’re so embarrassing.”

“ _ I’m _ embarrassing.” Ty Lee shot Katara a look that said very clearly,  _ Do you see what I have to deal with? _ “You’re a disaster. It’s a good thing you’re my best friend ever forever and I love you because otherwise I’d just  _ die _ of the shame.”

“Drama llama,” Mai muttered.

Katara laughed into her tea, keeping her head down. When Mai looked at her, one eyebrow raised into her bangs in the most emotion she’d shown since she’d walked into the shop, Katara shook her head. “Zuko was right,” she said. “You  _ all _ need some parenting.”

Mai huffed and looked away.

The door banged open, hard. Zuko marched in, shoulders up, face red and eyes wild. “Out,” he growled at Ty Lee and Mai. “Both of you, out. Get away from her.”

“Zuko!” Ty Lee said. She put her hands on her hips. “We didn’t  _ do _ anything!”

“Out!” Zuko gestured sharply towards the door. “You came here with Azula, you get treated the same. Get out of my damn tea shop or so help me, I will throw you both out through the fucking window, are we clear?”

Ty Lee pouted but put one hand on Mai’s arm and dragged her unresisting body out the door. When Mai passed Zuko, Katara could have sworn the very air between them darkened, but Zuko didn’t turn and look at her. He walked right past, only waiting for the door to bounce shut before coming straight to Katara and leaning down to look her over.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

He was so serious she couldn’t help but laugh at him. “I’m fine. I told you I could handle them. They’re not that bad, you know.”

“They may not be, but Azula is.” Zuko shot a nasty look out the front window, even though Azula was nowhere in sight and Mai and Ty Lee were already heading out of view.

“What did she say?”

Zuko huffed. “The usual.”

Concerned by the unyielding set of Zuko’s jaw, Katara did something she usually wouldn’t have dreamed of: she reached out and put her fingers lightly on Zuko’s wrist. He froze, even his eyes stilling. He wasn’t looking at her, and he didn't turn. 

“Zuko,” Katara said softly, as though he was a spooked dog instead of a cognizant human being, “it’s okay. She’s gone.”

“She’s never really gone,” Zuko said.

Katara considered moving her fingers, but decided not to. He didn’t seem to be upset about  _ that _ in particular and she was always one for a little calming touch, especially when someone was as riled up as Zuko was.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

“I really don’t.”

“Okay. That’s fine. Just let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

Zuko’s hand twisted beneath hers, too quickly for her to pull away. But he wasn’t trying to shake her off, only rotating his wrist so her hand dropped into his palm. He wrapped his fingers through hers and squeezed once. Before she could work out what on earth was happening, he pulled away, pushing off the counter and putting space between them. “Thanks,” he said gruffly.

Katara’s fingers tingled. Her throat felt tight and she couldn’t quite put a thought together. “No problem,” she managed around the squeaky tightness. “No problem at all.”

That was when Iroh came bustling back with fresh, warm red bean buns and offered one to Katara with a smile. “To brighten your day,” Iroh said.

Katara, who felt her day needed some serious brightening, took the offered bun and stuck it in her mouth so she didn’t have to think about Aang, or Azula, or what her insides had done when Zuko held her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is about my love of Chinese sweets and how Azula is basically Kathleen Hanna but evil. Should I have made her Courtney Love? Yes, but it doesn't fit her aesthetic.
> 
> Also I finally worked up a color version of Zuko and Katara for this story if anyone is interested.
> 
> [](https://imgur.com/rnBWOho)
> 
> The big version can be found [here](http://grapefruittwostep.tumblr.com/post/167672510291/finally-colored-some-for-my-avatar-band-au) on my tumblr.


	24. Chapter 24

They didn’t practice for three weeks after Moon Fish.

They absolutely should have been practicing. Zuko knew that probably better than any of the rest of them, given that he’d been in a successful band before Avatar, but there were no calls, no texts, nothing. He didn’t even see the rest of the band members. Well, he saw Toph once because she needed someone to buy vodka for her and also chat — it sometimes shocked him how much that girl could talk when she put her mind to it. They went out for tteokbokki and stood in a covered doorway to stay out of the early autumn rain while Toph took occasional swigs straight from the paper bag wrapped vodka bottle. According to her, everyone was still mad at everyone else.

“Aang keeps trying to talk to Sokka and Katara but they’re both still pissed.” Toph shrugged. “I think Sokka’s almost more pissed. They keep trying to talk, but then Sokka just thinks he has to be super overprotective about everything and it devolves.” She shook her head, dark hair sticking to her cheeks. “It’s hard because Aang’s getting it, but sometimes he still gets defensive. You know. Because he’s a dude.”

“Give everyone time,” Zuko said.

Toph rolled her eyes. “We don’t really have time. You should just come by and start bugging them. That’s what I’ve been doing.”

Not that that was Zuko’s style. He changed the subject. “How’s Katara doing with it?”

Toph smirked and raised the vodka bottle to her lips again. “Worried about your lady love?”

“Oh, come on.” Zuko leaned back against the buzzers behind him, careful not to push any of them. He picked up a long rice cake with the toothpick the vendor had included and stuck it in his mouth. “I should never have told you anything,” he said around the food.

“You really shouldn’t have.” Toph put the vodka bottle back into her messenger bag, checking the cap twice. “I dunno why you thought telling me anything was a good idea in the first place. Should have known I was gonna give you shit about it until the end of time.”

Zuko had to admit that one was his own mistake. “Could you just tell me if she’s okay?” he snapped. “Please?”

Toph waved a hand. “She’s fine. Wary, I think. Around Aang. But they’ll fight it out. He keeps apologizing in like a good, adult way without blaming anyone and that helps. But she won’t be alone with him yet. Can’t blame her.”

Zuko sighed. “But practice wouldn’t be alone.”

“Yeah, she’s not the one avoiding practice,” Toph said. “Aang is.”

“Oh.” Zuko stopped, another cake halfway between the bowl and his mouth, dripping spicy sauce into the broth. “Why?”

“He worries it’ll be different. You know? Like before when we had practice, he got to sort of relish his crush. The way you’re doing.”

“I am  _ not _ .”

Toph didn’t bother with the toothpicks, just stuck her fingers into the tteokbokki. “Sure. Anyway, he’s done it for years and years so it’s kind of a blow. I think it’s just scary to him.”

“I can’t believe Katara’s not pushing him into it.”

Toph kept her head down. She swirled her pinky finger through the residual fish broth. “Can  you blame her?” she asked quietly, her voice almost impossible to hear over the rain.

Zuko couldn’t blame Katara at all and that was the problem.

So three days later, on Zuko’s day off, he went to visit Aang.

The university was laid out over three city blocks, including green space, old buildings with sweeping roofs, and a lot of kids. Zuko, who remembered his own college days with something approaching nostalgia — it had only been a couple of years ago, but already felt like a lifetime — spent too long watching the students passing him with armfuls of books before he forced himself to call Aang.

Aang picked up after the second ring. “Zuko?”

“Hey, where are you? Do you have class?” This was something Zuko hadn’t thought about, but now it was way too late. “I’m in the neighborhood. Want lunch?”

“Uh, sure.” Aang’s voice pitched up. “I’m done for the day. I was just about the head home. Where are you?”

Zuko looked around. “In the middle of the green. There’s a big statue of a guy on a horse.”

With a laugh in his voice, Aang said, “I’ll meet you,” and hung up.

Zuko leaned against said mounted rider statue, watching people pass. A number of them looked him and his leather and studs up and down in a way that Zuko was so used to, he just ignored it. A few glanced at his scar, than away. That was harder to ignore, but he tried it anyway and probably almost succeeded.

Aang found him after only a couple of minutes. He ran up, panting, with his backpack slung over one shoulder. “Hey, man,” he said. There was still a nervous energy around Aang’s eyes that made Zuko realize maybe the kid thought Zuko was here to beat him up. Which was the furthest thing from the truth. Maybe. “What’s up?”

“Let’s get some food,” Zuko said. “Where’s a good place?”

Aang took him to a little hole in the wall which smelled of spice and curry so fresh Zuko’s mouth started watering immediately. They sat at the counter, Aang slinging his backpack under his stool. 

“Toph says you don’t want to go to practice,” Zuko said, cutting to the chase.

Aang ducked his head. The move, which worked when Zuko did it because of his hair, was far less effective on Aang. His large ears turned red, while the rest of his face went pale. “I … I mean, we should…” he said, sounding unsure. “I just don’t know what to do.”

“Because of Katara.”

“Yeah, because of Katara.”

Zuko sighed and put his elbows down on the table. “Well, have you taken into consideration that maybe she doesn’t want interpersonal drama to take over the band either?” he pointed out.

“Ugh!” said Aang with surprising force and dropped his head straight down onto the wooden countertop, spooking the man about to take their orders.

“I can come back,” the man said.

“No, it’s fine.” Zuko waved a hand and ordered the spiciest thing he could find on the menu. “He’ll have something vegetarian.”

“Aloo gobi,” said Aang without raising his head from the countertop.

The man nodded and left as quickly as he could manage. Zuko tapped a fingernail against the countertop, waiting. Eventually Aang would decide he wanted to talk.

“I messed up,” Aang said.

Thankfully, his position meant he couldn’t see Zuko rolling his eyes. “Yes,” he told Aang as gently as possible. “But now it’s time to fix it.”

Aang sighed and sat up. “Yeah, all right,” he said in a small voice, strange from such a tall man. “How do I do that?”

Zuko bit back an angry remark. “You have to figure that out yourself,” he said, unwilling to hold Aang’s hand through the process. “But the first step is going to be practice.”

“Like practice talking to her.”

“No, man,  _ band _ practice.”

“Oh.” Aang fidgeted. “Yeah, I guess I’ve been avoiding that. I just wanted to give her space.”

“When I last talked to her, the band was her priority,” Zuko said, mouth quirking up at the memory. “She cares about that a lot and I think you should respect that.”

“I do!” Aang protested. 

“So show her that.”

“I guess I should do that, yeah.” Aang shook his head. “How’d you get so good with girls?”

Zuko snorted, looked at Aang, realized the kid was being serious, and burst into laughter. It was probably the first time in a long time — longer than Zuko cared to remember — that he’d full out laughed, the kind that made his lungs hurt. His good eye watered and he wiped it on the back of his hand.

“I’m  _ not _ ,” he finally managed to get out, in response to Aang’s sour look. “I’m really bad with girls. Just ask my ex.”

“You have an ex?” Aang cocked his head. “I didn’t know that.”

Zuko realized that while Aang had decided to bare his soul to Zuko on occasion, Zuko hadn’t done the same. And he certainly wasn’t planning to, what with the fresh wounds of Katara’s rejection all over Aang’s psyche. But talking about Mai was probably safe.

“She was the drummer in my old band,” Zuko said. “I knew her since we were kids. She’s my sister’s friend.”

Aang propped his chin on his folded arms. “How long did you go out?”

“I don’t know, a couple of years?” Less? Or maybe more? Zuko wasn’t sure. There was some on-again off-again going on throughout that period anyway so he didn’t know how much they were allowed to count. Not that he really wanted to count it all, given how fast she’d dropped him when Azula said to.

Not that Zuko had tried to hang on to her. The relationship had seemed tenuous at best. Definitely headed towards another “off-again” period anyway. It was easier just to let her go after the fire. He had other things to worry about.

“Did you love her?” Aang asked.

Zuko shrugged. He wasn’t ready for that question.

“Did she love you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did she say it?”  
“Yeah, but I said it too, and I don’t know if I was telling the truth.” He peered at Aang. “Kid, look. I’m not going to tell you that women are hard to read or anything. They’re really not if you actually bother to listen and hear what they have to say instead of what you want them to be saying.” That must have hit close to home — Aang looked away, the corners of his mouth turning down. Undeterred, Zuko continued, “But sometimes people say things just to say them. It’s like a habit after a while. Besides, love is … complicated.”

“It seems so easy for Sokka,” Aang grumbled.

“Yeah, that’s because that’s not love. Not even close.” Zuko shrugged. “Not that I really know, honestly. My parents didn’t love each other. My dad never loved Azula or I. I couldn’t even manage to figure out if I was into the woman I was dating. I’m really not the one to come to for advice about love.”

“Or maybe you are,” said Aang, “because you know it from an outsider’s perspective.”

Zuko turned to stare at Aang. Occasionally, when Zuko least expected it, Aang sounded like an old man. Ancient and wise. Like Iroh, but less prone to platitudes.

Aang’s mouth quirked in a half smile, his eyes still thousands of years old. “Just a thought,” he said.

“Good thought.”

Thankfully the food arrived and Zuko shoved a spoonful of hot curry into his mouth to avoid having to think anymore about wise old man Aang, and how someone who could be that smart was also so phenomenally stupid.

Maybe the latter was just about being nineteen. That probably had a lot to do with it.

* * *

 

Katara’s phone buzzed and she glanced down at where it was hidden under the counter. The store was empty for the most part, only one middle aged woman in the back browsing through incense cones, but she still didn’t want to look at the message. Or at least, didn’t want to look blatantly.

She leaned back a little and peered down at the little screen.

It was from Aang.  _ Practice tonight? _

Katara’s eyebrows went up. Aang hadn’t texted her since The Incident. She hadn’t forgiven him — she wasn’t going to, exactly — but she’d gotten to a point of comfort that he wasn’t going to try anything else right now. That was all she needed. Maybe he was waiting around to come up with some other way to win her heart, but he wasn’t going to do it by force.

She didn’t know what her friends had done to him, but when they’d next spoken, he was apologetic, aware of exactly what he’d done wrong, and physically unblemished. There had been part of her that worried Suki would find him and punch his teeth out, but she seemed instead to have put Aang’s punishment in Katara’s hands.

Unfortunately, Katara wasn’t big on punishment in general, especially the corporal kind, so Aang wasn’t in any danger of being punched.

She was just going to make him respect the shit out of her.

Another message popped up on the lock screen — Aang must have sent a group message. That was good. Normal. All Katara really wanted from him was a sense of regularity again.

This text was Toph.  _ Sounds good, asshole. I need a ride. _

Toph hadn’t forgiven Aang either. Or maybe she just picked up any excuse to give him shit, which was equally likely. Since the Moon Fish show, she’d referred to him primarily in insults, every one of them to his face. Which was mean, but so completely Toph.

Making sure the customer in the back wasn’t looking, Katara slid her phone out and typed,  _ Sokka has my car since Appa’s in the shop. He can get you, Toph. I can walk. _

Dots met her vision. She put the phone back in its hiding place and rung out the woman with her agarwood incense. The door closed behind her and Katara pulled her phone back out, keeping an ear out for the bells over the shop door.

She’d expected Sokka to text back, or maybe Toph, but it had been Zuko.  _ Katara, if you’re working, I can pick you up. I have to grab my guitar and my place isn’t far. _

Katara bit her lip and instinctively turned down the offer.  _ No thanks. The walk isn’t bad. _

_ I don’t know if you’ve looked out the window lately, _ Zuko texted back _ , but it’s about to pour. _

Katara swore and went to the front window of the shop. Sure enough, the light had the overly dark quality that heralded a thunderstorm. The sky hung heavy and low, gray cloud bellies almost brushing the roofs across the street. As she watched, a few fat drops fell from the sky, splashing against the glass doors.

“Shit,” Katara said to herself.

_ Yeah, _ she texted,  _ I guess I’ll take that ride _ .

She wanted to ask Sokka instead — the idea of being stuck in a car with Zuko made her stomach turn, even though she’d done it before with no trouble — but the university was miles away and if Zuko was in the area anyway, it would be awkward to ask someone else. She really did want to walk, but the idea of having to trudge the five blocks between here and the practice room in the pouring rain didn’t appeal to her. Usually it wouldn’t bother her, but she’d forgotten an umbrella and her shoes were canvas. Playing the keyboard with wet feet sounded nightmarish.

When Sih, the other girl who worked in the shop, arrived for her shift, Katara was already half out the door. “Okay, everything’s all counted out,” she said, stuffing her things into her purse. “It should all be ready for you. Thanks.”

“Got a hot date?” Sih asked, stripping off her raincoat; the storm had started fifteen minutes before she walked in the door.

Katara rolled her eyes. “I have band practice.”

Sih made a face. “Hot date would have been better,” she said.

The door opened. Both women looked up with identical customer service smiles, but it was only Zuko, his shoulders damp, hair falling into his eyes. He smiled just a little upon seeing her. “Hey, Katara. Ready to go?”

“Damn,” said Sih, very quietly. Her green eyes went wide. “You  _ do _ have a hot date.”

Katara stepped on Sih’s toes. Sih yelped, and while she was distracted, Katara grabbed her bag and trotted around the counter to meet Zuko. “You got your stuff already?” she asked, ignoring Sih’s sniggering behind her. 

Zuko shrugged. He kept looking from her to Sih and Katara desperately hoped he hadn’t heard the comment. She didn’t want Zuko thinking she thought he was hot. Not like he was ugly. Honestly, she liked the way he looked, even with the scar.

And those arms…

No, none of that. She shook her head. Zuko was a jerk and she wasn’t going to let him live that down.

“I stopped at my place already,” Zuko said uncertainly. His eyes were fixed behind Katara.

Katara turned just in time to catch Sih giving Zuko a double thumbs up. She grabbed his wrist. “We need to go,” she said between gritted teeth. “Before someone gets punched.”

“I parked right out front.” Zuko’s eyes flicked down to her hand on his wrist, but he didn’t protest. “We’ll have to run for it, though. The rain is intense.”

Katara pushed the door open. The sound of rain on the sidewalk nearly deafened her. “Is it unlocked?” she asked, spotting Zuko’s car.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Unconsciously, she squeezed his wrist. “One … two … go!”

“Unfair!” Zuko yelled after her, but she was already running. The rain soaked into her shoulders and hair but she kept moving, yanking the passenger door of Zuko’s car open and diving inside. A moment later, his hands hit the opposite window and he pulled the door open, falling into the driver’s seat and yanking the door shut behind him. 

For a moment, they sat in silence, panting. Katara pushed her wet hair back from her face and grinned at Zuko. Rain hammered on the top of the car.

He caught her eye and smiled back. 

The moment stretched. Katara examined a soaked lock of hair plastered to Zuko’s pale forehead, on the non-scarred side. He looked younger if she only looked at that side, his long face and strong jaw gentled by the wet hair and the smile.

Then she realized she was staring and pulled her eyes away. “Well,” she said, clearing her throat, “that was fun.”

“Sure.” Zuko turned and put his hands on the wheel. He paused, opened his mouth, closed it again, and turned on the car. Music, at a reasonable volume for once, filled the space. Katara cocked her head to listen. While this was clearly still Zuko’s typical punk, with a harsh, grating female vocalist and a lowered guitar style that Katara couldn’t quite work out, she found she enjoyed the technical prowess and melodic songwriting a lot more than much of what he’d played around her.

“What’s this?” she asked.

He gave her a startled look and reached out to turn the music up just a little. “Sleater-Kinney. Why?”

“I kind of like this.”

Zuko grinned. “You would.” He bit the inside of his lip, mouth taking on a half puckered look. “I can lend you this if you’d like.”

“Yeah, that’d be cool.” Katara pulled her wet hair out of her face and and began busily braiding it, keeping her hands between her and Zuko. “You know, I don’t hate your music.”

“Yeah, I know.” Zuko pulled away from the curb, driving slowly in the driving rain. “I never said you did.”

“Your sister —”

“My  _ insane _ sister,” Zuko interrupted.

“Yeah, okay. But she implied that I was …” Katara rolled her eyes. “I don’t know, boring.”

Zuko seemed to mull this over. “Is this because she called you a hipster? Are you upset about that?”

“I mean, a little.”

He glanced at her, eyebrows tightening. “Katara, you  _ are _ a hipster.”

“I am not!” She gasped. “I’m not a hipster at all! I’m … well, I’m more of a hippie, honestly. And I resent the implication that I’m some waxed-mustache, pretentious asshole.”

“You listen to indie rock and wear floral sundresses and high waisted jeans,” Zuko said, shrugging. “I think you should probably just own it.”

Katara sucked in a full breath, ready to fight back. “I listen to  _ sythpop _ , thank you very much,” she told him primly, then looked down at her pants, which were in fact high waisted jeans. “And I wear these because they’re comfortable. Why do you wear that stupid jacket? It doesn’t look comfortable. How do you lean against anything, with all those spikes?”

“I wear this jacket so hipster girls in high waisted jeans leave me alone,” Zuko griped.

“Well, it’s not working.”

“Obviously.” Zuko snorted. He was still smiling. And even though Katara kind of wanted to punch him, she found she was smiling back. 

“Wait, hold on.” Zuko held up a hand. “How is synthpop not indie rock?”

“They’re totally different genres!” Katara shook her head. “That’s like mixing up...um…”

“Art punk and queercore?” Zuko said wryly.

“I have no idea what those are,” Katara said, tossing her hair back and sticking her nose in the air, “But yeah, probably.”

Zuko shook his head. He pulled into the parking lot behind the practice room and turned the car off, though the music kept playing. He leaned back in his seat, watching her. “Okay, how about this. I’ll burn you a CD of some stuff I think you’ll like, and you do the same. We’ll swap and then we can fight about sub-genres with some actual examples instead of this, which is entirely hypothetical.”

“Fine,” Katara said. “Deal.”

Zuko gave her a lopsided smile, his unmarred cheek turning pink. “Great. Race you in there.”

And then he was gone, throwing the door open and bolting to the back door. Swearing, Katara followed him, pelting through the rain and just barely catching up as he pulled open the door and dived into the back landing. He was laughing. So was she.

“Oh, fucking shit.” Zuko tossed his wet hair back. “I forgot my guitar in the car.”

And he was off again, running through the storm as she held the door open and watched.

It was only when he got there that Katara realized he’d offered to make her a mixtape. And she’d done the same.

Well, wasn’t that so very John Hughes of them.

Except, Katara told herself firmly, without the romantic undertones. Of course not.

This  _ was _ Zuko after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The conversation between Katara and Zuko about genres is based on a lot of these arguments I had with my easily offended ex. In this context, I am Zuko, and my ex is still a hipster.
> 
> There is a very good chance I will be making these mixes. If I do, I can include the track listings if people are interested.
> 
> Thanks for all the support!


	25. Chapter 25

It was all going fine until she handed Zuko the damn CD.

They had three weeks of regular practices, none of which involved crazy sisters, unsolicited kissing, or a famed keyboardist-guitarist blowout. Actually, everyone was getting along, which Zuko thought might be a minor miracle. Even Aang was back in the fold, very careful to keep his hands to himself.

They even played a couple of small gigs, the kind he was more used to with Avatar. Moon Fish certainly wasn’t a fluke, but it wasn’t going to be an everyday occurrence … not yet. There were lots of important people calling. The band wrote new songs. Sokka bought a better mic for Katara’s back up vocals. Toph and Zuko performed an unplanned cover of AC/DC’s  _ T.N.T. _ at a show in order to cover an awkward keyboard malfunction and it went over so well with the crowd that the two of them petitioned Sokka to work on some harder songs. They started considering  a second album.

Then, after weeks of finagling and stress, Zuko finished the mix he’d made for Katara. It had been a lot of blood, sweat and tears to make it sound the way he wanted it to. As the son of a record executive, Zuko had a sense of the way an album should play out, how one song rolled into the next, and how to structure the flow. Of course, when he was making a mix for a girl he liked, everything got worse. Nothing seemed right.

Finally, he got it the way he wanted it.

He texted her.  _ I’ll have your mix tomorrow _ .

_ Good, _ she wrote back.  _ I’ll put yours on a CD, I guess, since you’re old school like that. _

He smiled. His own CD popped out of his computer and he stuck it in a case. After a second, he opened it back up and found a sharpie. 

With his tongue between his teeth, he scribbled  _ Truce? _ on the matte silver, decided that was as good as it was going to get, and put the CD in his guitar case.

He waited until everyone was packing up after the bi-weekly practice before handing the CD over, sliding it across his amp so he didn’t touch her. It already felt too intimate, even though he wasn’t sure if she was picking up on the emotional charge.

“Here,” he said.

“Oh, awesome.” Katara dug into her bag and produced a paper envelope folded around a CD, the kind Zuko was intimately familiar with from high school. “Here. I didn’t have any cases and I was stealing Sokka’s CDs for demos anyway.” She shrugged. “This was a lot of work, you know. A lot of research.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. Finding stuff that straddles that punk/hipster divide is hard.”

She glared at him. “I’m not a fucking hipster.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He shook his head.

She stuck her hand out and thrust the CD into his fingers. “Don’t be a butthead, Zuko,” she told him, bright eyed, and left the room with his mix in her hand.

Shaking his head, Zuko packed up his things. Maybe she’d actually like it. Maybe she wouldn’t listen to it at all. Who knew at this point. He needed to stop caring so much. It was ridiculous.  _ He _ was rediculous. 

In the safety of his car, with the drizzle on the roof — the rainy season had arrived in full force and everything was drenched all the time and would be for another month — he unwrapped the CD and slid it into the player. He turned the key just enough to make the radio work. Leaning back with both hands on the wheel, he closed his eyes and set his head back against the headrest.

He listened to about thirty seconds of the first song.

Then, keeping his cool as best as possible, he reached out, turned off the music, and drove hope as fast as he could.

CD in hand, he took the stairs up to his apartment two at a time. Without turning on any of the lights, he shoved the CD into the corner sound system and threw himself onto the couch.

He listened to the whole thing, occasionally groaning and putting his hands over his eyes. What the  _ hell _ had she been thinking?

He walked into the kitchen and poured two fingers of whiskey into a glass, knocked it back in one easy movement, and set the glass down on the counter with a decisive thud.

Then he listened to it again.

Once silence filled the apartment, he called Toph.

She answered after a minute or so. “What’s wrong?”

“Can you come over?”

Toph went quiet. The click of her tongue against her teeth echoed down the line. “What time is it?”

“Ten thirty.”

Toph hummed. “Yeah, I can probably make up an emergency study date and get the shitheads to drive me over. What’s going on?”

“Just…” Zuko rubbed his unshaven jaw. “Just come over, okay? I’ll tell you when you get here.”

She took twenty minutes to arrive, which gave Zuko enough time to stress-clean his bathroom and stare into the mirror for a while, wondering what on earth he’d done to deserve this kind of bad karma.

Toph knocked. Zuko opened the door and she shoved past him, cane waving to avoid his minimal possessions. “Okay, would you tell me what the fuck you’re dragging me out of the house in the middle of the night for?”

“I swapped mixes with Katara,” Zuko said.

“Oh, how very fucking 1980’s of you,” Toph said. “Does she have terrible taste in music or something?”

“That’s … not exactly the issue.”

Toph groaned. “So why the fuck am I here?”

Zuko growled. “Sit.” He led Toph to a chair and basically pushed her down into it. “Listen.”

He turned the CD on to the beginning.

Toph listened, head cocked to one side, brow furrowed. As the song went on, one eyebrow, quirked up, then another. About halfway through, she looked up towards Zuko, a smile curling the corner of her mouth. Her eyes crinkled in amusement.

“Zuko,” she said slowly, “this is a sex song.”

“Yeah.” Zuko ran his hands through his hair, which by this point was as wild as a cockatoo's crest. “I’m aware of that.”

Toph put both hands over her mouth, either to show her shock, or cover her delight, Zuko wasn’t quite sure. “Katara. Made you this mix.”

“She did.”

“And the first track … is a sex jam.”

“It is.”

Toph rubbed her hands all the way up her face to her hairline and then back down. “This is the best thing that has ever happened in the history of ever,” she said, glee evident in every wrinkle of her face. “Nothing will ever surpass how hilariously wonderful this is.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself over there, you tiny asshole,” Zuko said. He flopped down on the couch.

“Suki needs to know about this immediately, if not sooner.” Toph dug into her pocket for her phone and held down the bottom button. “Text Suki,” she told it.

“ _ What would you like me to text Suki? _ ” the robotic voice asked.

“Suki, come over to Zuko’s,” Toph annunciated into the microphone. “Katara made him a mix with a sex song on it, you need to hear it.”

“You’re terrible,” Zuko said. “Why did I tell you?”

“Because you’re freaking out right now,” Toph said. She hadn’t stopped smiling. “I can hear the panic. And you need someone to help talk you down. But first we’re going to make fun of you.”

Toph’s phone beeped. “ _ New text from Suki, _ ” it said.  _ “Would you like me to read it now? _ ”

“Yes,” Toph said.

_ “Holy fucking shit, _ ” the robot voice said, which was disconcerting to say the least, “ _ I’m on my way, where does he live? _ ”

Toph sent Suki the address and made Zuko pause the mix. “Get me something to drink,” Toph said. “I think I’m going to need it.”

Suki only took three minutes to arrive, which told Zuko she’d been out barhopping. Zuko’s apartment was about a block away from what seemed like every tequila-serving establishment in the area and Suki was tipsy at the least, holding on to the door frame when he answered her knock. Zuko let her in, knowing he was about to regret it.

“Play it,” Suki demanded.

Zuko turned the CD back on. Again. While they listened, he got himself another whiskey. And drank it immediately.

He looked into the living room. Toph and Suki sat together in his battered chair, Suki perched on the arm. She tucked her hands between her thighs, leaning forward towards the CD player as though it would help her hear better.

“Is it all like this?” she asked.

Zuko poured himself a third whiskey neat, this time twice the size. He leaned in the open doorway between the kitchen and living space. “Not exactly,” he managed.

“Is this the only overtly sexual song on here?”

Zuko looked down into the whiskey. “It … is not.”

Suki whistled, long and low. “Wow, dude. Just … wow.”

Toph’s brow furrowed in thought. “And, not to be too specific about it, but … how much of the rest of it is romantic?”

“I dunno,” Zuko said, looking everywhere but at the girls. “Maybe eighty percent.”

“Well fuck,” said Toph.

“That’s...not the worst part,” Zuko said.

“There’s worse?” Suki’s head shot up, the red highlights in her hair catching the light and flashing as it moved. “How can there be worse?”

“There’s worse than this fucking sexual frustration playlist?” Toph said.

“There’s a Weezer tune on there.”

Suki and Toph looked at each other. “Hey, I’m not a big Weezer fan either,” Toph said, “but you gotta expect that shit from Katara.”

Suki watched Zuko’s face. He tried not to turn bright red but it probably wasn’t working. “What Weezer song?” she asked.

“Uh, I don’t know the name.” Zuko swirled his drink.

“Sing it,” Suki said.

Zuko, who wasn’t a big singer, hummed the chorus, feeling stupid.

Toph squeezed Suki’s hand and they both immediately broke out, “ _ Girl! If you’re wondering if I want you to, I want you to. _ ”

Toph, who never sang at practice, had the kind of off key voice that Zuko expected both from her and from himself. Suki, on the other hand, sounded like a hard rock angel, husky and harsh but really good despite it. Of course she did.

“I hate that fucking song,” Toph said.

Suki, grinning, said, “Dude, I think she wants you to.”

“Ugh.” Zuko crossed the room and fell onto the couch with his feet up on the arm, drink still in hand. A bead of whiskey poured over the edge of his glass and pooled in the web of skin between his thumb and forefinger. “This is stupid. I’m reading into this.”

“Do you think she did it on purpose?” Suki asked.

“Oh, hell no.” Toph shook her head and sipped her own whiskey, which was still mostly untouched. “You can’t expect Indie Cindy to be able to read a fucking social cue.”

“What else in on this?” Suki got up and wandered over to the CD player, fingers dancing over it in search of the skip button.

“ _ This Time of Night _ ,” Zuko said, leaning over the back of the couch, “by New Order.”

“The  _ fetish club song _ ?” Toph said.

“Okay, there’s no way she knows that,” Zuko said. “Why would she know that’s what it’s about?”

“Because she wants to fuck you,” Toph said.

“Toph!”

“No, she’s right.” Suki found the right button and skipped a couple quiet songs Zuko had never heard before — he never previously heard most of what was on the mix, to be honest — and landing on another explicitly sexual one. “I think it’s time for you to accept that Katara wants to jump your bones.”

“I think you should let her,” Toph said. “You’d both be happier.”

Zuko waved his glass in her direction. “Is this because you have money down on my love life?”

“No,” Suki said, skipping another track, “it’s because this is  _ filthy _ and you know it.”

Zuko put both hands over his face and groaned.

“She had to do it accidentally,” he insisted.

“You made her one, right?” Toph asked.

“Yeah.”

“Was it romantic?”

Zuko froze. He lowered his fingers slightly. “Yeah. I mean, of course it was. But like...I meant it. I don’t think … “

“You don’t think she meant …” Suki tilted her head, listening, then quoted “ _ If we sleep together, will I like you better? _ ” She grinned, then continued, “ _ If we cum together — _ ”

“For fuck’s sake, would you cut that out?” Zuko threw a couch cushion at Suki, who dodged, laughing. “You two are the worst.”

“ _ We’re _ the worst?” Toph blew her cheeks out like a chipmunk. “I, for one, have never given someone a sexually explicit mixtape so I don’t think I’m the worst person involved here.”

“So what do I do?”

“I think you find a romantic way to ask if she wants to fuck you in the back seat of your car,” Toph asked. “I mean, I hear straight girls like that shit. I’ve never been one for the romantic assholery.”

“That’s because you hate feelings,” Suki said.

“Ah yes, and when are you going to get around to doinking our bassist?” Toph asked, putting on a sugar-sweet voice so reminiscent of Katara, Zuko had to laugh.

Suki put her nose in the air. “When I feel like he’s earned it,” she said.

Toph shrugged. “That’s actually an improvement. I thought you were gonna get that angry voice again, but I’m glad you’re moving past that. Though honestly I’m not sure why you wanna go for that idiot.” She shook her head and sipped at the whiskey, nostrils flaring.

“Can we go back to talking about Zuko?” Suki asked pointedly.

“Oh, yeah.” Toph grinned. “What’s  _ your _ plan?”

Zuko picked up his drink and drained the whole thing. Whiskey burned down his throat, a sweet pain that he could focus on instead of things like Katara’s potential sexual interest.

“Okay, looks like it’s time to get you out of here,” Suki said. “If you’re going to drink like that, you might as well do it in public.”

“Yeah, the shitheads are going to freak if I’m out too much later,” Toph said, getting to her feet. “They said they’d be back at midnight. What time is it?”

Suki checked her phone. “11:50.”

“So we’re not going out at all,” Zuko said. “That’s late, right? Too late —”

“Jokes on you, asshole, last call is two in the morning.” Suki found his jacket thrown over the unused dining table and tossed it at him. “We’re going out and you’re going to get super wasted and probably cry about how much you love Katara or whatever. I’m going to laugh.” She patted Toph’s shoulder. “In two years, you’re in.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Toph said, pulling herself to her feet. “I’ll see you assholes later. Suki, don’t break him.”

“I don’t break!” Zuko said.  
“He seems very breakable,” Toph continued, ignoring him.

Suki rubbed her hands together. “Come on. The girls are out with me. They wanted all the details.”

“Oh no,” Zuko said. For the first time, he looked Suki up and down and realized she was dressed up. She wore more liquid eyeliner than usual and had switched her ankle boots out for what looked like red Doc Martins with four inches of chunky heel. With jeans slung low on her hips and some kind of crop top thing — Zuko wasn’t great with fashion names — under her usual letterman jacket, she looked ready to kick some ass.

This was very very bad.

“Come on,” Suki said, shooing him toward the door. “Don’t forget your wallet. We’re going to get you fucked up.”

As Zuko had suspected, Suki had been at a nearby bar, one just around the corner that Zuko knew well. This bar had a sticky floor and loud music, the speakers fuzzy and buzzing. The rest of Kyoshi sat at one end of the bar. Suki slid into a red stool and Zuko took the only remaining one, leaning his elbows on the bar.

“Suki!” Zuko recognized Misa immediately, mostly by her smile. “And hey, you brought this asshole back. Hey, there, Skinny Jeans? How you doing?”

“He’s confused,” Suki said. “A girl gave him a CD full of sex jams and he’s not sure how to take it.”

“Do her!” chorused Misa and the broad-shouldered woman sitting beside her.

“Thanks,” Zuko said dryly.

Suki flagged down the bar tender. “I’d like a White Russian,” she said, leaning one elbow on the table, “and my friend will have a whiskey neat. Leave the bottle.”

“Yikes,” said the girl beside Misa. “That bad?”

“Oh, Zuko, I don’t know if you met Yori,” Suki said. “She plays drums. And that’s Nanase in the corner.”

Nanase, who was about five foot four of curves and soft edges, raised an eyebrow and didn’t say anything.

“Cool,” Zuko said. “I don’t know if the bottle is necessary.”

“It absolutely is,” Suki said as the requested items were deposited on the counter in front of them.  “You need some liquid courage.”

“It’s midnight,” Zuko pointed out, but he poured a glass anyway and drank half of it before he could reconsider.

“How many of those have you had?” Misa asked. She leaned back against Yori, her eyes bright and interested.

“Too many.”

“Girls are hard for him.” Suki was on her phone, typing away furiously with both thumbs. “So he has to drink for it. I feel that. Have another.”

Zuko finished the one he had and poured more into his glass. He hadn’t drunk like this since the last party with Azula, when some girl had tried to fight Mai for him and failed, of course. That was before the scar. Now no one was fighting over Zuko.

Unless, you know, Katara really did want to jump him.

Zuko took another swig of whiskey. Things were getting fuzzy on the edges already, which meant he was in for a really rough night. He couldn’t stop thinking about Katara and her  _ stupid sex songs _ . There was no way it was intentional. She wasn’t … that kind of person. That was a Suki move. No, Suki would have just walked up to someone and asked if they wanted to bone. Which she probably did.

He turned to her to ask why she didn’t just drag Sokka home for a good fuck and saw Katara walk into the bar.

“Suki,” he growled.

“Yup,” Suki said, not sounding at all upset.

Sokka followed his sister, holding the door open with one large hand. While Katara bit her lip and swayed uncomfortably in the entryway, Sokka grinned. He looked for Suki, found her, and grinned wider, though a second ago that hadn’t seemed possible. 

“Oh good,” Suki said, beaming. “The rest of our entertainment is here.”

“You are a terrible friend.”

“Think of it this way.” Suki threw an arm over Zuko’s shoulders. “Katara’s my girl and I love her like a sister. I want her to be happy. And I think it would make her super happy if you two screwed like bunnies. Really, I’m doing this for the both of you. It’s selfless.”

Zuko grunted, wishing he hadn’t downed so much whiskey. Now he was going to be stupid. Really, really stupid. And that wasn’t his best look.

Not as though he hadn’t seen Katara drunk and hungover. But she hadn’t seen him that way and he’d really wanted to keep it like that. Mostly because it was a huge embarrassment and Zuko wasn’t really one for being embarrassed.

Suki called, “Guys!” and waved her hands, even though Sokka and Katara were already making their way along the bar towards the group. Zuko shrugged his jacket higher on his shoulders, the spikes almost at his ears, but there was no way to hide. It wasn’t a big place.

“Sorry for the late notice,” Suki said as soon as Katara was in hearing range. “Just our drinking group suddenly got bigger and I figured hey, let’s make it a real party. Besides, Nanase’s doing her ‘please let me go home’ face.”

Glancing at Nanase, Zuko saw that was true. Her face was puckered up under her long bangs and she’d let her head drop forward so her hair formed a barrier between her and the rest of the bar. When he looked, she shrugged, not saying anything.

“She doesn’t like people,” Suki confided.

“Can’t say I blame her,” Zuko replied. 

Suki, ostensibly sensing the remark was directed at her, grinned and looked over his head at Katara. “I hear you guys swapped some music,” she said, blinking in false innocence.

Katara smiled. There was nothing coy or embarrassed in the smile. “Yeah, I just threw together some stuff.” She glanced at Zuko. “Did you like it?”

“Some of it, yeah,” Zuko said, both disappointed and relieved by her innocence. “What about you?”

Pink spots bloomed in Katara’s cheeks but she kept smiling as though she hadn’t notice her own reaction. “You’re right. I like Sleater-Kinney.”

“Thought you might,” he said, staring into the glass in front of him.

For the first time, Katara noticed the glass and the bottle. “Wow, is that for you?”

“It’s on me,” Suki said. “Sometimes a man needs a stiff drink.”

“Sometimes a man needs an intervention,” Katara muttered.

Sokka took the opportunity to push past Katara and step further down the bar. The motion urged Katara into the gap of space between Zuko’s seat and the one beside him. She leaned her elbows on the bar and glanced at him over her shoulder, hip bumping against his knee.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Fine,” Zuko said, pouring another drink because at this point, what could it hurt? “Just a long week, I guess.”

“It’s Tuesday.”

Zuko snorted and didn’t respond. He couldn’t keep his mind off the curve of Katara’s neck, the way her hair fell across her cheeks and glistened like silk.

Nanase got up, muttering some goodbye to her bandmates, and Sokka immediately took her vacated seat, leaving Katara still standing. She didn’t seem upset by it, leaning forward to try to catch the bartender’s eye. Zuko kept his eyes on his drink, and not on the strip of skin between her jeans and shirt as she moved, a band of brown lower back that was  _ shockingly distracting _ .

He mentally stamped himself down. What was he, some fifteen year old to be drooling all over a tiny little flash of skin? Stop it.

Despite the late hour, the bar was still busy. Most of the clientele had the boots-and-leather look that both Zuko and Suki cultivated, making Katara’s turquoise jeans stand out like a lighthouse in a storm. Zuko fought the urge to put himself between her and the rest of the crowd, reminding himself that there was no reason for him to be this protective. Katara had been in bars before. She was an  _ adult _ , damn it. He was being an asshole.

He reached out to pour another whiskey and didn’t manage to quite get it to the glass.

Katara sucked in a breath, pulling her elbows away from the spill. It wasn’t a bad one, but it ran down the seam of the bar towards her. 

“Fuck,” Zuko grabbed a handful of paper napkins and plopping them on top of the spill.

The chair beside him moved, forcing Katara to step closer, her hips between his knees. Katara reached over him, taking the napkins from his hand and wiping up the spill.

“How many of those have you had?” She peered at him, grinning and shaking her head.

Zuko flexed his fingers, which were beginning to feel stiff and uncomfortable with intoxication. Even though he’d been mostly okay before this, he now worried about standing. “Uh, maybe two?” he said. “Uh...no.” Counting was hard. This was not an ideal situation. “Upwards of five.”

“Oh  _ no _ ,” Katara said in a tone of voice that Zuko had only heard used by tired mothers. “It really must be a bad Tuesday.”

_ Yeah,  _ he wanted to say,  _ because you made me a damn sex playlist and I can’t handle that emotionally. _

Fortunately, Zuko had always been a surly drunk, not a chatty one. The words stayed locked within his throat.

“I’ll be fine,” he managed instead. “This isn’t anywhere near the worst I’ve had.”

“Oh, so you’re in the habit of drinking whole bottles of whiskey?”

He glared up at her, sliding his knees so they pressed against her legs but didn’t trap her. Hopefully it would seem accidental. She didn’t move away.

“Maybe you’re used to responsible consumption, with your girly umbrella drinks,” he growled, “but Azula liked to pre-game with a line of coke, so yeah. This is pretty subdued.”

Katara’s eyebrows went up. “Must be nice to be able to afford that kind of lifestyle.”

Zuko shrugged. “That’s not the word I’d use to describe it.”

She laughed, shifting so her hip pressed more obviously against his knee. “You’re going to need someone to drag you home after this.

“Yeah, I’ll make Suki do it.” Squinting one eye, Zuko managed to get some whiskey in the actual glass instead of all over the bar. “She made me come out here so she might as well have to suffer my drunken ass.”

Katara looked up, over Zuko’s shoulder and her whole face turned bright red. Her hand landed on his knee, nails digging into his jeans. Even though the sensation was somewhat deadened — another drunken reaction to worry about — Zuko winced. “Shit, Katara, watch it —”

“I don’t think Suki’s gonna be walking you anywhere,” Katara said in a strangled voice.

Zuko turned, twisting his spine and leaning against the bar when his head spun. Suki had shoved Sokka up against the wall of the bar in order to kiss him, her hair tossed back out of her face, fists buried in his t-shirt. Sokka’s arm was thrown out to brace against the corner of the bar so Suki’s weight didn’t overbalance him. His other hand rested on her waist, pulling her hips against his.

“Well, fucking finally, I guess,” Zuko said.

Katara put one hand on her forehead, angling it so she could no longer see what was going on. “Ew,” she said. “I mean, good and yes, finally, and I’m happy for them, but also like … gross.”

“Siblings are the worst,” Zuko agreed. He shoved the whiskey at Katara. “Have a drink.”

Katara took the glass and raised it to her lips, taking a tiny sip. She made a face and coughed. “That’s  _ really _ strong.”

“Yeah, it’s supposed to be,” Zuko said. “That’s the whole point. Have some more, it’s good for you.”

Katara grinned. “It’ll put some hair on my chest?”

“Your chest is fine,” Zuko said, then, with dawning horror, added, “Ah, fuck. Not like that. I’m …” He rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin. “I’m very drunk.”

“Yeah, you really are.” Katara just kept smiling at him, mockery cradled in the corner of her lips. “Whenever you feel like you’re ready to stumble home and fall asleep with your shoes on, I’ll walk you there. But I want to drink something myself first, okay?”

“Good.” Zuko reached out and shook the whiskey bottle, which was nearly empty; it had only been half full when he’d gotten it, he recalled. “I need to drink the rest of this.”

He should tell her that she didn’t need to walk him home, but he was too drunk to turn down things he actually wanted. It wasn’t like he was going to take advantage of the situation. He wasn’t even sure he could walk straight, let alone try anything.

Showing no signs of moving away from him, Katara managed to flag down the bartender and order a Cape Cod. When she finished, she looked back down at Zuko, who’d been running his finger around the edge of his highball glass and staring at her.

“You going to be okay?” she asked.

“Planning on being very not okay, actually,” Zuko informed her, “so everything is going according to plan.”

“You know, you’re really articulate given how much you’ve had.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before.” Zuko took a sip of his drink, then slugged back the whole thing, because hell, who cared at this point? “It’s because I don’t need alcohol to make a fool of myself, so there’s no change in my stupidity levels.”

Katara blinked. She had  _ very _ long eyelashes. How did she even see with those things? “I’ve never seen you drunk and honestly, it’s kind of scary.”

“Why?” Zuko peered up at her.

“You’re not talkative …” She bit her lip — again, very distracting — and then said, “But you’re more blunt. You’re always blunt, I guess.”

“Not like Toph,” Zuko said, almost offended. “Come on, don’t accuse me of stepping on  _ those _ toes.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” Katara’s drink appeared in front of her. She thanked the bartender and picked it up, pulling in a long sip the way Zuko would smoke, her mouth curving around the off center straw. “Maybe blunt isn’t the right word. You’re … self aware.”

“And here I thought I was the drunk one,” Zuko said. “That doesn’t make  _ any  _ sense.”

“Don’t be an asshole.”

He poured the rest of the whiskey — another three fingers — into his glass instead of just swigging it out of the bottle. Which was good and still showed some human capacity. He had to blink a few times to get Katara’s face to come into focus. “Katara, I can’t not be an asshole. I was born an asshole. It’s just my natural state of being.”

“That’s not true. You’re sweet.” She chewed her straw, then took another sip which drained about half the glass. “Kind of.”

“I am  _ not _ sweet.”

“You’re the nicest douchebag I’ve ever met,” Katara said, grinning.

“Oh, fuck you.”

She laughed, which meant he was really losing his touch. He drank a third of the whiskey to cover how much he liked hearing her laugh — at least, it stopped him from telling her. 

“I kind of like you like this,” she said. “You’re fun to mess with. Though you’re always fun to mess with. Not that I’m saying I spend a lot of time messing with you.”

_ Sex song mixtape,  _ he thought.

Suki passed, dragging Sokka behind her. Zuko turned just enough to offer Sokka a fist bump, which he returned haphazardly, his knuckles barely grazing Zuko’s pinky. “See you guys later,” he said, and then they were gone.

“Sokka wait!” Katara called, but it was too late. She sank back against the bar, deflated. “He has the car keys,” she said.

“Damn,” Zuko said, internally rejoicing. “Uh, you can sleep on my couch if you want.”

She shrugged, her mouth twisting. “I guess I could walk home.”

“It’s like eight blocks.”

“That’s not that bad.”

“At two in the morning?”

Katara took a thoughtful sip of her drink. “I’ll think about it.”

He supposed that was better than nothing. Later, he’d try to insist. Instead, he just finished his drink. A glance to his other side showed him empty bar stools where Misa and Yori had been; they’d obviously decided to call it a night too, while he hadn’t been paying attention. They should probably clear out sometime soon as well. He glanced at the last fourth of Katara’s drink and finished his whiskey, setting it down on the counter.

“What do I owe you?” he asked the bartender.

“The girl with the red hair paid for you already,” the man said. “The one who went home with the other guy.” He raised an eyebrow at Zuko. “Y’all are having an interesting night.”

“You can say that again,” Zuko said.

Katara finished her drink and set the glass back on the bar. “We should get you home,” she said.

Zuko nodded, which made him dizzy, and stood slowly, bracing himself against the bartop. He rolled his shoulders back.

Katara slid under his arm, her hand a spot of warmth in the middle of his back, even through the leather of his jacket. “Come on, you moron,” she said. “Lean on me.”

“I can do it,” he insisted, stumbling.

“You can’t do it. Obviously.” She guided him out of the bar and into the chill of the street. The pavement gleamed with water; it had rained sometime while they’d been inside. The streetlights wavered in Zuko’s vision, flashing gold and pink as he blinked. 

“Where do you live?” Katara asked, which was when he realized she’d never seen his place. Had he cleaned? He couldn’t remember. Not that it was ever that dirty. He didn’t spend enough time there to worry about dishes. 

Instead of answering, Zuko pointed. Katara readjusted, sliding her arm around his waist. At her touch, his muscles tried to tense up, but they were too drunk to function correctly. She tucked herself against his side.

“I can do it,” he said again, fooling no one.

“Stop being stupid,” Katara told him.

He sighed and laid an arm over her shoulders. It was a lot steadier to lean against her instead of just spin down into nothing and fall over his own feet. His head was a disaster. Nothing made sense.

He tightened his grip on her shoulders.

“Go up the stairs in the back,” Zuko directed. He wasn’t slurring. He didn’t feel sick. He just couldn’t function properly. So it could have been worse. And at least he got the warmth of Katara pressed against him, guiding him up to his apartment, taking his keys from his fingers and opening the door for him.

She sat him down on the couch. “You need something to puke into?”

Zuko shook his head. “No. I feel okay.”

“Good.” She looked around, full lips pursed. She looked around his small apartment and suddenly Zuko was embarrassed about the cramped space, the old couch, the black jeans thrown over the end of the bed. But Katara’s eyes fell on the CD player, paused, the track number still flashing. “Is that the mix I made?” she asked.

Zuko leaned his head back so he didn’t need to see her. He was tired and very drunk. Screw surliness. “You mean your fuck mix?”

“ _ Excuse me _ ?”

The room spun even though his eyes were closed. He waved a hand in what he hoped was Katara’s direction. “Play that.”

After Katara’s strangled huffines, there was the click of a button and then the music started again. It was still cued up to Garbage. The song played for about a minute, in which there was no other sound in the apartment. Finally, Shirley Manson’s voice faded out along with the electronic backing.

In the second of silence between it and the next song, Katara whispered, “Oh  _ no _ .”

Zuko laughed. He couldn’t help himself. The entire night was becoming the most ridiculous moment of his whole life. “Yeah. Awkward.”

“That...oh  _ no, oh no, oh no. _ ”

Zuko looked up, peering through one eye so he only saw one Katara. She stood by the CD player, staring at it in horror, hands pressed over her mouth. “You just realized what’s on there, didn’t you,” he said.

“There are … that’s not the only …” Her face was brick red. “I have messed up. A lot.”

Zuko let his head fall back. He wanted to get up and pull her into his lap, push her hair back from her round face, run his fingers around the rings of her tattoos, feeling the warmth of the skin beneath them. He opened his mouth, considering asking her if he could — how, exactly, he would communicate it was unclear, but the urge was there — but then bit back on it. Everything spun. Two Kataras stood by two CD players, both of them still red-faced and horrified.

“I put …” The co-Kataras shook their heads. “Zuko, I’m so sorry.”

“Katara.”

“I totally messed up. I didn’t even think, I just chose songs that sounded like your style. I can’t believe how stupid that was.”

“Katara.”

“ _ Just a Little Bit _ is on there, holy crap, what the hell was I thinking?”

“Katara!” Zuko snapped. She turned to him, hands still over her mouth. He waved towards his feet. “I can’t untie my shoelaces.”

“Oh.” Katara came over and sat down on the weathered trunk that served as Zuko’s coffee table. She leaned down and pulled his booted foot onto her lap, working her fingers into the knots until she pulled them apart and loosened the laces. Gently, she slid his foot from the boot, setting it back on the floor without dropping it. She did the same with the other, leaving the boots themselves on the table.

“I really am sorry,” she said.

Zuko shook his head. Everything felt heavy. He needed to sleep this off before he said something really stupid. With great difficulty, he pulled his legs up onto the couch. “‘S fine,” he muttered. “Gonna make fun of you.”

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Zuko shook his head. “Sleep here. Too tired. Can’t make it.”

“It’s only a few steps.” Katara’s tone was cajoling, a parent to an unwilling child.

“No.” Zuko rolled over so his back was to her. “You take the bed.”

“I can walk home.”

“Stay.”

There was a long silence. He was too fucked up to worry about how she’d taken it.

“Make sure I don’t die,” he managed.

Katara sighed. “You asshole. You owe me.”

“Already do.”

She laughed. “Probably. I don’t want your bed. It would be weird if I slept there, wouldn’t it?”

Zuko sighed. Words were becoming more difficult to get out. He wasn’t sure if he was speaking or if it was just in his head. “It’s good. Sleep there.” His eyes drifted closed. “Like it.”

“What?”

_ I like the idea of you in my bed _ , he tried to say, but his mouth wouldn’t move. The heavy whiskey sweetness dragged him down into sleep before he could finish the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Articulate drunks are my absolute favorite and you better believe I was going to give that trait to Zuko for maximum hilarity.
> 
> Okay, so here are the track listings for the mixes. They're a little rushed, but I needed them done in order to put this up.
> 
> Katara's Mix for Zuko:  
> I Get Around-Dragonette  
> Satellite Mind-Metric  
> Dangerous Type-Letters to Cleo  
> Cheated Hearts-Yeah Yeah Yeahs  
> Sleep Together-Garbage  
> Shout If You Know-Mother Mother  
> Girl Like Me-Ladyhawke  
> There Is A Light That Never Goes Out-Dum Dum Girls  
> Bed-Semisonic  
> Queen of Apology-The Sounds  
> This Time of Night-New Order  
> Just a Little Bit-Kids of 88  
> All for Swinging You Around-The New Pornographers  
> Bubblegum Bitch-Marina and the Diamonds  
> Prom Night-Anamanaguchi  
> (If You're Wondering If I Want You To) I Want You To-Weezer
> 
> Zuko's Mix for Katara:  
> Romance-Wild Flag  
> Peek-a-Boo-Siouxsie and the Banshees  
> Dashboard-Modest Mouse  
> Satellite-The Dollyrots  
> She's Not There-Neko Case and Nick Cave  
> Just My Kind-The Julie Ruin  
> Want It Back-Amanda Palmer and the Grand Theft Orchestra  
> A New Wave-Sleater-Kinney  
> I Don't Want to Know (If You Don't Want Me)-The Donnas  
> Superhero Girl-Eve 6  
> Serious Things are Stupid-Cayetana  
> Rebellious Love-Gogol Bordello  
> Love Will Tear Us Apart-Joy Division  
> Up to You-Damone
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy!


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I broke my post NaNoWriMo slump to finish this chapter (updates may slow down now but I'm still working). Thanks everyone for all the support!

Katara woke to an unfamiliar ceiling and almost panicked. It had been a long time since she’d woken up anywhere but her own room and for a second she couldn’t work out where she was. The white plaster was unmarked, without the glow-in-the-dark stars she’d formed into the familiar constellations of her childhood sky. The blankets wrapped around her smelled of cigarettes and soap — nothing floral like her own, something heavier and more masculine. Another breath brought her the smell of spices. Lots of them.

The kinds Zuko liked.

Oh. She’d crashed at Zuko’s because he was a stumbling intoxicated disaster and she had to make sure he didn’t die of alcohol poisoning.

Speaking of. She sat up, shedding blankets, and looked over at the back of the couch. She couldn’t tell from here if he was still lying there, so she swung her feet out of the bed and padded across the worn wooden floor to look over the edge.

Zuko lay sprawled across the couch, long legs crooked uncomfortably against the armrest. One hand was thrown over his eyes, the elbow cradling his cheekbone. His hair stood out at odd angles.

Katara smiled. Clearly, he needed some sleep. Leaving him where he was, she went into his small kitchen and opened the fridge. There wasn’t much inside; some white takeout boxes, smelling distinctly of curry; a handful of beers in brown bottles; a box of baking powder; some questionable milk. She checked the expiration date on the milk — three days from now — and opened it to give it a quick sniff. It wasn’t great. She put it back.

There wasn’t even a coffee pot in the kitchen. Why would there be? Zuko worked in a tea house; he could get all the free caffeine that he wanted there. 

Speaking of which. She turned back to Zuko on the couch and sat down on the coffee table across from him. Reaching out one hand, she brushed her fingers against his shoulder. 

“Zuko.”

He didn’t move.

Frowning, Katara pushed at him more roughly. He groaned, turning away from her. That was progress. He was still alive.

She grabbed his shoulder and gave him a hard shake.

The arm covering his face moved enough for one amber eye to peer accusingly at her. “What the fuck do you want?” Zuko growled. Then the eye narrowed. “Why are you in my house?”

“Do you remember last night?” Katara asked.

“Yeah.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “You stayed?”

“I had to make sure you didn’t have alcohol poisoning,” Katara pointed out.

A strange little smile wrapped around Zuko’s mouth. “Thanks. Why are you waking me up?”

“Do you have to go to work?”

“Fuck.” Zuko dropped his arm back over his face. “Shit, what time is it?”

“Seven thirty.”

“I gotta take a shower.” Zuko sat up, pulling his shirt out to give it a cursory sniff. “Gross.” With less embarrassment than the last time he’d done it in front of Katara, he pulled his shirt over his head and threw it into the corner.

Katara bit back a whistle.

Zuko didn’t seem to notice her interest. He turned and swung his feet onto the floor, pausing for a second with his head down.

“Hangover?” Katara asked.

Zuko shook his head. “No, I’m still drunk.”

Katara laughed. “Do you need me to walk you into the shower?”

Zuko’s head turned so he could look at her from under his hair. A slow, spiraling smile spread across his mouth. “I can probably manage on my own, but I mean … I appreciate the offer.”

She realized why he was smiling and smacked him on the chest with the tips of her fingers — because she was angry and not at all because she wanted to touch his pectorals. “Don’t be a dickhead,” she said.

Zuko’s face pulled back into the more familiar lines of surely annoyance. “My bad. I gotta clean up.”

She offered him a hand to stand up, but he waved it off. “You don’t have to hang around.”

Katara shook her head. “I want to make sure you don’t fall into the toilet or something.”

“Yeah, well.” He steadied himself against the back of the couch. “If I really need your help in the shower, I’ll yell real loud.” He opened his mouth as though to say more, then pressed his lips together — he’d been doing that a lot around her lately, she’d noticed. “I must be sobering up. How nice.”

He headed for the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

Katara looked around his apartment. There wasn’t much to the place, just a single studio room, the walls painted beige. The floor was wood and Zuko hadn’t even bothered to lay out a rug anywhere. It was the apartment of someone who didn’t want to live there, or who didn’t know how to. There were no pictures on the walls, no knickknacks or decoration apart from a couple of Avatar flyers on the bureau. The furniture was mismatched and faded.

It didn’t seem like Zuko at all.

On the other hand, Katara didn’t know what  _ would  _ seem like Zuko. She couldn’t imagine the place that would fit him. He was such a transitory person. Half the time, she worried he would disappear if she looked away for too long. Sometimes it actually happened, especially if it was a party he didn’t want to be at.

She went back into the kitchen to try to scrounge up some food and perhaps stave off Zuko’s inevitable hangover. There wasn’t much in the cabinets either: rice and chili paste. They’d have to get something on the way to the tea shop.

Katara pulled out her phone to cue up the mix Zuko had given her. She’d listened to it once the night before, right after practice, but hadn’t had a lot of time to enjoy it. She had, though, managed to digitize it. 

Leaving her phone on the counter to play, Katara rinsed off the single glass in the sink. She ran her hands over the bare countertop. No crumbs. Nothing in sight but a single whiskey bottle, the same kind Zuko had been drinking at the bar. He must have had some before Suki dragged him out. Idly, she wondered what had put him into such a mood. She’d seen him drink beer, but rarely anything stronger, and she’d never seen him drunk.

Maybe it was Azula. If Azula was her sister, Katara would drink too.

The shower shut off. Zuko stepped out of the bathroom a moment later, wearing a pair of jeans that Katara thought were the same except the rips were in different places. “Are you cleaning my house and listening to my music?” he said.

Somehow she didn’t like the implication of his tone, even though she wasn’t totally sure what that implication was. She scowled at him. 

“Yeah, I don’t like it either.” Zuko toweled his hair off. “I can clean my own kitchen, okay?”

“Do you even live here?” Katara asked.

He raised his eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She waved a hand. “It looks like someone who needs to get away fast. Are you in witness protection?”

“I’m not doing a very good job of it.” Zuko threw his towel over the back of a chair. Katara really wished he’d put on a shirt; the shift of his muscles beneath his pale skin was very distracting. “Uncle Iroh’s gonna kill me.”

“He won’t,” Katara said. “You’re his pride and joy.”

The corner of Zuko’s mouth flicked up. He grunted and pulled a shirt from the drawer of a dresser shoved into the corner like an afterthought.

“What’s this one?” Katara asked.

Zuko shook it out. “Vandals.”

Katara sighed. “How many black band tshirts do you own?”

“As many as I can.” Zuko pulled on the shirt and Katara took the second while his head was covered to let her eyes wander across his stomach and hips. Well done, Zuko. Just all around good job on all of your everything.

She blushed and looked away.  _ Stop ogling him! _ she chastised herself.  _ You’re being a creeper. _

“You know you can go home now, right?” Zuko said. “I feel a lot more sober than I did. I think the alcohol is finally running out of my system.”

Katara shrugged. “I figured I’d get some tea. Then I can stop at home and get ready before work.”

“I’m not making you late, am I?”

She shook her head. “I have a few hours. I’m not worried.”

“Let me buy you some breakfast too,” Zuko said. “Or get some, if Uncle’s already at the shop. I’m not sure if he’s planning on cooking today.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

Zuko looked away, scratching his opposite shoulder so his arm wrapped protectively across his chest. “Yeah, I do. You stayed here to keep an eye on my drunk ass and you didn’t need to. I really appreciate it. Breakfast is the least I can do.”

Katara shrugged. “Your bed is comfortable.”

Zuko looked away and cleared his throat. “Yeah, thanks. Um, you need anything?”

Katara shook her head and followed Zuko to the door. He held it open behind him, one arm craned back until she took it, then stood awkwardly beside her until she got out of his way, allowing him to lock up. 

The morning stillness of the city was marred only slightly by a group of kids heading in their direction, probably to the high school a few blocks away. Katara followed Zuko as he dodged past them, keeping his head down. He paused as soon as they passed and waited for her to catch up. It had rained during the night and the sky was still gray with cloud cover. Puddles lined the sides of the street below the curve, running off into storm drains. A few unseen wet birds sung in the skinny trees lining the street, their calls as damp as the sidewalk.

Zuko yawned. “I really am sorry about being such an idiot.”

Katara ducked her head. “Well, I’m sorry for accidentally burning you a bunch of sex songs.”

“Yeah that … was something.” Zuko shook his head. “I, uh … didn’t know hipster music had that many songs about boning.”

“I’m not a hipster!”

Zuko shook his head.

“And,” Katara continued, nose in the air, “I’ll have you know that there are an awful lot of indie songs about sex.”  
“I think you mean there are a lot of indie songs perfect for pretending to be asleep to _avoid_ sex.”

She smacked his arm with the back of her hand. “What would you know? How many indie girls have you slept with, hmm?”

“None, yet.”

Katara snapped her mouth shut so hard her teeth clacked. He hadn’t meant … he  _ couldn't _ mean …

But no, he wasn’t looking at her. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his jacket, pulling the leather tight across his back. He kept his head down, staring at his boots.

So no. He certainly  _ hadn’t _ meant it the way it had sounded. It had all been in Katara’s head, which was definitely a good thing. She didn’t have the time or energy to deal with another boy issue right now, not with Aang and whatnot. She most certainly didn’t want Zuko to be implying that he’d like to …

Well. You know.

She cleared her throat and pushed her frizzy hair over her shoulders — it was especially bad this morning, with the humidity and lack of product that she usually smeared into it every morning. What she wouldn’t do to be able to braid it back like she did when she was younger. But no, not anymore. That was something her mother had done for her and it hurt too much to look in the mirror and see that little girl.

Zuko appeared just as lost in thought as Katara was, once she roused herself to look at him. He chewed at the inside of his cheek, puckering the skin of his lips.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Fine.”

He didn't sound fine, so she kept pushing, knowing he’d hate it. “Come on. You look preoccupied.”

“Just sobering up. Trying to work out what happened last night.”

“Oh.” Katara hadn’t really thought about that. “Did you black out? I thought you said you remembered everything.”

“I did. I mean, I do. Remember.” He shook his head. “You know, chewing over all the interpersonal bullshit. I guess your brother decided to go for gold, huh?”

She’d forgotten all about that, even though it had been the instigator for her waking up in Zuko’s bed — not like  _ that _ obviously, seriously, Katara, get it together. Fumbling in her pocket, Katara drew out her phone and looked for a message from Sokka or Suki.

“Nothing yet, I’d guess,” Zuko said. “Given the way Suki was all over him, I’m willing to bet you’re not going to hear from either one of them for a while. Are you going to be able to get home?”

“They’d better not be … doing anything on my couch.” Katara shuddered. “I’ll just have to get in and get out. Maybe with earplugs.” 

Zuko grinned. “Gross.”

“You’re not allowed to be grossed out. It’s  _ my _ brother. I have full license to being disgusted by this situation.” Katara folded her arms. “You’re supposed to think it’s cute.”

“PDA isn’t my thing,” Zuko said, looking away again. “Especially not on other people.”

“It’s better when it’s you?”

Another hint of that curling, mischievous smile peeked through Zuko’s hair. “Well, yeah. I mean, it’s always better to be a participant.”

They reached the wooden storefront of The Jasmine Dragon and Zuko pulled out a messy bundle of keys, sorting through until he found the right one. “It’s a good thing we open late on Wednesday,” he said, “or I’d be screwed.”

Katara waited patiently for him to unlock the door and push it open, holding himself awkwardly out of the way in order to let her in. There was a light on in the back and a strain of melancholic music drifted from the kitchen.

Zuko made a face. “Ugh. He’s listening to The Cure again.”

“Not a fan?” Katara stood away from the door as Zuko locked it behind them, rubbing her hands together to banish the damp chill. “I would have thought with the hair —”

In response, Zuko snorted, tossed his bangs out of his face, and rolled his eyes. “Since I never had depression in the late eighties, I’ll pass, thanks. Uncle, on the other hand, is obsessed with all that angsty post-punk trash.”

Katara didn’t bother to point out that Zuko had handed her a mix with at least a few post-punk songs on it; clearly he’d gotten something from his uncle and he wasn’t happy about it.

“Uncle Iroh?” Zuko walked toward the kitchen, beckoning Katara along with him.

“Nephew!” Iroh stuck his head and upper body through the curtains, his already wide smile stretching further when he saw Katara. “And Miss Katara! What a lovely surprise on such an otherwise dreary morning.”

“Are you cooking anything? I promised Katara breakfast.”

Iroh’s eyebrows went up. He looked from Zuko to Katara, then back. “Oh,” he said, innocent enthusiasm slightly dampened. His round face took on a more serious cast, the crinkles in his eyes flattening out. “I see.”

But he was still smiling …

“Of course I will make breakfast,” said Iroh, and now the smile was a smirk. “I understand completely, nephew.” He patted Zuko’s elbow. “And very well done.”

Zuko’s entire face turned bright red, even his ears. Even the back of his neck. “Because she walked my drunk self home and I fell asleep on the couch,  _ Uncle _ ,” he said so loudly it was just on the edge of a scream. “Because she is a  _ good and kind friend  _ and I  _ owe her _ .”

Now Iroh’s face really did fall, wrinkles forming around his mouth. “Well, too bad,” he said. “Do you like  _ jian bing _ , Miss Katara?”

Katara swallowed hard, doing her very best to keep her face expressionless.  _ You are like a field of ice _ , she told herself.  _ You show nothing. _

“Yes, Iroh, that would be perfect,” she said and smiled.

“Good girl,” Iroh said, disappearing back into the kitchen. 

“No chili paste!” Zuko yelled after after his uncle. He shook his head, turning back to Katara, face still glowing with color. “Katara, I’m so sorry —”

Katara devolved into howling laughter, doubling over and clutching her stomach. She laughed so hard she cried, tears running down her cheeks and dripping off her chin. Legs too weak to hold her up, she allowed them to fold, sliding down the side of the counter until her butt landed on the floor of the cafe.

Zuko sighed and rolled his eyes. “Why?”

Wiping at the tears, Katara shook her head, unable to reply. She put her head between her knees, trying to control herself before he lungs seized up, but it was impossible. Iroh’s serious face. The flush still spreading across Zuko’s face. She couldn't handle it. It was just too much.

“He was …” she managed between giggles, “so damn  _ proud _ of you.”

“You are such a terrible person,” Zuko said blandly. “So awful. Just the worst.”

“Do you not get laid like  _ ever _ ?”

Something cracked. She thought it was Zuko’s knuckles. “That’s none of your business.”

Katara leaned her head back against the counter to look up at him. In the half-dark of the store, his face was a mask of shadows, hiding most of his features, but he’d shoved his hands into his armpits and wasn’t looking at her.

“I’m never getting you breakfast again,” he said gruffly.

“ _ So proud _ .”

“How about you shut the hell up?”

He left her there on the floor, still laughing, as he went to get one of his dark aprons, pulling it on over his shirt and jeans. By the time he came back around to her, Katara had controlled her laughter to the point where she could breathe and probably stand. He offered a hand, which Katara accepted. Zuko released her fingers very quickly, leaving her wavering on her feet. 

Almost as soon as she was seated at the counter, still recovering, Iroh came back and deposited her egg-filled pancake in front of her with a flourish. “No spice,” he told her with a wink. “Very safe, I promise.”

“Thank you,” she said, meaning it, and wolfed down the whole thing in under a minute.

“Don’t let my uncle see you eat like that,” Zuko said. While Iroh went back into the kitchen, Zuko was left to arrange the counter, depositing delicate red bean buns in the glass fronted case by the register and checking the contents of tea tins.

“Why not?” Katara took the paper napkin Zuko had left by her left hand and wiped her fingers clean.

“He’ll make you more.” Putting on a passable imitation of Iroh, he said, “You are too thin, Zuko. We must feed you so you grow.”

“That’s cute that he took care of you when you were a kid though.”

“That was last week. Uncle hasn’t figured out that I’m probably past my growth spurts.”

“Well, thank him again for me.” Katara placed her crumpled napkin on her empty plate. “I should be getting home. I have to make sure that I get the shower before Sokka. He takes forever.”

Zuko clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth. “Okay. Thank you. For …” He waved a hand. “Everything. I owe you a lot more than breakfast.”

“It’s no big deal.” Katara got up and pulled the hood of her jacket over her hair. The curls poofed out the front, warming her chin and neck. “That’s what friends do.”

“Yeah, I guess. Still. Thank you.”

She shook her head. “I’ll let you know if there’s a naked Suki in my apartment.”

Zuko’s eyebrows pulled together. “Thanks? What do you want me to do if there is, come over and shoo her out with a broom?”

Katara laughed at the mental image. “Feel better,” she said, not answering the question, and left the Jasmine Dragon for the quiet, rain filled streets between there and her warm shower.


	27. Chapter 27

Zuko leaned his elbows on another black bar in another small, packed venue. Despite how familiar it seemed — all the venues all started to seem the same after a little while — he never grew tired of this kind of place. It was where music should be. Not stadiums or huge concert halls with velvet seats. Places like this, smelling of beer and sweat.

Or maybe he was just a giant sap. That could very well be true.

The place should have held seventy, but there were already about a hundred people packed in. That made sense. Four bands, Kyoshi headlining later in the evening? Perfect. 

Not that the first band on stage was good. At all.

Zuko tried to tune them out, which was easier said than done. He kept his back to the stage and instead watched Katara farther down the bar. Everything had gotten more complicated since she stayed the night. Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought she was going out of her way to stop by the tea shop, or catch him after practice to borrow his Wild Flag album. 

Or maybe he was imagining it. That was more likely.

He was too busy staring at the curve of Katara’s jaw to notice that she’d turned away from the band on stage to look back at him.

“Zuko?”

“Huh?” he shook himself. “Are we on?”

“Uh, no.” Katara looked at the stage where a man in an ill-fitting dress tried to combine bad spoken word poetry and incoherent mumbling, all while fighting over an over enthusiastic but amature drummer. “They’re not even half done. You’re starting at me.”

“Sorry.” Zuko looked down at his beer. When he managed to look back up at her, she was still watching him, eyes glowing in the half darkness. When he met her gaze, she grinned and turned away.

He really needed to say something to her. It was just a matter of what.

Toph was chatting with the Kyoshi girls, Sokka and Suki stood holding hands by the stage, and Aang watched the band with shocking enthusiasm for something so bad. Classic Aang. He’d probably go chat with them afterwards too, just to meet them and see if they were cool. Which they were not. But that was Aang.

This was a perfect moment for him to sidle up to Katara, maybe confess his feelings. 

On the other hand, the shit band was really ruining the moment.

Of course, Katara took just that moment to slide closer to her, her hip bumping his. She leaned in close. Zuko’s stomach clenched.

“They’re … awful.”

Zuko snorted and glanced over his shoulder just in time to see the drummer pull his shirt over his head and throw it into the crowd. Katra shuddered as it landed on the black floor.

“Terrible.” Zuko turned away again. “They can’t all be good, I guess.”

She laughed.

Zuko looked at her and opened his mouth. “Hey, so uh … I was wondering if you —”

“Zuko. There you are.”

Zuko froze and kept his body between Katara and Azula as he turned to his sister. “Oh. You’re here. Too bad. It was such a nice night before you got here.”

Azula glanced at the stage, the hard lines of her face sharp enough to cut. “Cut the act, Zuzu. Pippi Longstocking up there is ruining this night for everyone.”

“What do you want?”

Azula settled onto the barstool next to Zuko, crossing her knees and placing her perfectly manicured black nails on her legs. “I want to see you play.”

“Azula.”

“For real this time.” She offered him a smirk, which was as close to a smile as he was likely to get from her. “That isn’t a crime.” She leaned around him and waved her fingers at Katara. “Oh, hello … Kya, was it?”

Katara’s hands clenched on the bar, nails drawing scratches through the layers of paint. “Katara,” she growled. “Come on, Zuko.” She seized his hand. “We have to get ready to play.”

Azula and Zuko both looked down at the joined hands, then at each other. Azula’s smirk grew wider. Zuko, refusing to be abashed by Katara’s touch — and really enjoying it — smirked back as he let Katara drag him away.

“Why does she do that?” Katara demanded.

“Stalk me?”

“Yes.” She dropped his hand and shoved her hair out of her face. “Is that just like some creeper thing?”

“Azula  _ is _ a creeper,” Zuko said, picking up his guitar. “But I mean, I’ve learned to accept it about her. It’s not new.”

Katara puffed up her cheeks in repressed annoyance. “Well, as long as she doesn’t disrupt the show,” she said. “Because if she does, I’m going to come off that stage like an avenging spirit and kick her ass into next week.”

Zuko didn’t disbelieve her at all, though he did find the image of Katara going after scary, pointy-heeled Azula to be hilarious. He sniggered and she glared at him. He promptly stopped, not wanting her to kick his ass too.

Aang bounced into the green room and the thought of Azula was lost under the usual flood of activity before they went on — getting what was needed, getting onto the stage, hooking up Katara’s keyboard, testing, more testing — and then the show itself. Shows had been going well. Really well. Everything was working together.

And he got to watch Katara’s hands as they flowed over the keys, rings flashing on her fingers in the lights. He liked the way she bit the inside of her cheek sometimes, focusing so hard on what she was doing that she didn’t even notice.

He didn’t care if Azula saw him doing it. She obviously already knew how he felt. It didn’t matter if she could see the idiotic look on his face when he watched Katara play.

After their set, he lingered in the green room, not wanting to go out and have to face his sister again. Maybe she would have gone away. But maybe not. He’d stay in the room and wait until he was sure she’d gotten bored and gone away. 

“Are you hiding?” Katara asked.

“No.” He fiddled with his guitar case, not wanting to put the instrument away yet in case he needed to do something with his hands other than … well, Katara still made him nervous. It wasn’t her fault.

“You’re hiding from your baby sister.” She folded her arms. They were the only ones left in the green room — everyone else had gone back out to actually enjoy the show. Katara hopped up to sit on an old speaker stuck in the corner. The felt was coming up at the corner and she picked at it. 

“Are you implying that I shouldn’t be scared of her because she’s younger than me, or because she’s a girl?” Zuko looked at Katara, eyebrow raised. “Because you’re both of those things and I think if I implied you couldn’t murder me you would, just to prove me wrong.”

Katara pouted. “That’s unfair. But true.”

He grinned. “This is why I try to stay away from girls. They’re scary.”

“Wuss.”

“Am not.”

“Or is it just that you’re one of those guys who can’t understand women?” Katara cocked her head to one side. “So we’re scary because of some internal thing?”

“Or maybe girls are just gross,” Zuko countered.

“What, Zuko, come on?” Katara, grinning like the cat with the canary-mouse, kicked her heels into the side of the speaker. She cocked her head to watch him, eyes bright and bird-like. “You think  _ I’m _ gross? Do I have cooties?”

Zuko rolled his eyes and pretended to stare at his guitar. “Oh, grow up.”

“So you do hate me?”

Please. “No, I don’t hate you.”

“But you think I’m gross.” She tilted her head the other way. “Right?”

Zuko sighed. “It was a joke. I don’t think you’re gross.”

“And you don’t hate me.”

Why was she being so difficult? Zuko glanced at her from underneath his lashes and she grinned when she caught the look. “You know,” he grumbled, “it’s really obvious you’re a younger sibling.”

Katara threw back her head and laughed, revealing a line of neck and chest that made Zuko flush hot and look away. “You’re clearly an older one, if you’re getting annoyed,” she said, sobering only slightly. “So you don’t hate you.”

He sighed. “No, Katara, I like you, you’re fine.”

“You like me?” The laugh was back.

Zuko, cursing himself, sank back into the couch. “You gotta be kidding me right now,” he said. “How old are you, twelve?”

Katara grinned, kicking her feet again. Her tone took on a singsong edge that gave Zuko playground flashbacks. “You like me?” she asked, her smile turning slightly cruel. “Do you  _ like  _ like me? Do you want to kiss me?”

Zuko tossed his head back so his hair cleared his face and his eyes. He stared at her for a moment. Katara stared back, the laughing tone draining from her throat. She licks her lips. Zuko watches her tongue.

Well, he’d been waiting for the right moment … 

“Yes, Katara,” he said, looking back up at her ocean eyes. He tried to sound firm, but it came out raspy and annoyed, as usual. “I do want to kiss you. A lot.”

As soon as it was out of his mouth, he felt stupid.

Katara’s face paled for a second, taking on an ashy parlor, then burst into glorious red blush, darkening to the color of wine. “Oh,” she said, her teasing voice vanishing. “Are you...are you serious?”

Without looking at her, Zuko put down his guitar and stood. He took a step towards her. She didn’t move, so he crossed the room. Her knees entered his field of vision and he stopped a few inches away. His hands shook so he shoved them in his pockets.

Zuko looked up. Katara stared at him, wide eyed, lips slightly parted.

“Do I look like I’m joking?” he asked.

Katara shook her head. “Oh,” she said again, though this time it was as though many things were falling into place. “That’s … the mixtape. The way you look at …” Her face turned very red. “I’m  _ very _ oblivious.”

He didn’t say anything, just waited.

She met his eyes and bit her lip.

When she didn’t get up, push him away, or otherwise give any indication that she wanted him to back off, he took a step forward. His thigh brushed against her knees, pressed together as she perched on the speaker, and she slid them apart, just a little. Zuko blinked. He looked down at her hands, balled into fists against the speaker felt.

_ Oh _ .

Her knees opened more, enough to allow him to step between them, her thighs brushing against his hips as he did. His heart, already beating double time, ratcheted up to about 100 miles per hour.

He looked at Katara’s face, her bright eyes, her still red cheeks. “So, um…”

“Yeah.” Katara bit her lower lip. “I, uh … wouldn’t mind if you … did. Kiss me.”

Carefully, Zuko laid his hands on her legs, just above her knees. Her skirt brushed his finger tips. Another half step brought his knees in contact with the side of the speaker. They were very close, her upturned face inches away.

Katara licked her lips again and Zuko thought he might pass out.

“Okay, no, this is stupid.” Zuko didn’t pull away but he raised his face a little. “I’m sorry. I need to go, I’m being pushy and I’m just … you deserve someone who isn’t bitter and scarred and ugly and …” He shook his head. “Stupid.”

Katara’s hands, cool and calming like an ocean breeze, rose, locked around the back of his neck, and pulled him down. “Stop being an idiot, Zuko,” she told him, and non-to-gently yanked his face the few inches to hers to kiss  him.

His frozen stillness evaporated and he dug his fingers into her thighs, opening his lips to kiss her more fully. In contrast to her fingers, her mouth was warm. She arched her back so her chest and belly pressed flush against him. Since she was sitting and he was standing, he loomed over her. It was awkward, but he didn’t care, just bent further to keep his lips in contact with hers.

Katara sighed, her breath sliding against Zuko’s mouth. Her hands ran up the back of his neck to tangle in his hair. Nails scraped against his skin. In response, Zuko ran his hands up her legs, under the hem of her skirt. Fabric bunched around his hands and wrists. One of Katara’s calves pressed against the back of his knee, keeping him close.

What had started out shy and messy was very quickly becoming anything but. Zuko pulled back for a second, Katara’s quick breaths sending shivers across his cheek. Her eyes were bright, pupils huge.

“I —” Zuko said, unsure of what he wanted to tell her.

“Shut up,” she told him and pulled him back to her, mouth hard against his. He turned his head, pushing closer to her. His hands pushed all the way up to the top of her thighs, fingertips brushing against lace beneath her skirt. He used his other hand to brace himself against the speaker so Katara’s insistent hands didn’t pull him over on top of her.

Everything was perfect.  _ She _ was perfect.

And if the way she kept insistently digging her fingernails into the back of his neck was any indication, she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

He pulled away again. “I didn’t think —”

“Clearly,” Katara grinned. “Would you stop questioning me and just kiss me instead?”

Zuko complied.

The door banged open. Katara squeaked.

Zuko turned to look over his shoulder, making sure to give the intruder the full benefit of his scared glare. Whoever had decided to barge in and interrupt what was without a doubt the greatest moment of Zuko’s life was really going to regret —

It was Aang.

All three of them froze, Aang in the door with his hand still on the knob. His eyes flashed to Zuko bent over Katara, his hands pushed up Katara’s legs so far that most of her brown thigh was visible, then to Katara’s hands locked around Zuko’s neck.

“Fuck,” Katara whispered.

As much as he was loathe to, Zuko stood up and stepped back. His face burned with heat. Katara, equally red, pulled her skirt down over her exposed legs. 

Aang’s face turned milk white. His hand tightened on the doorknob until the mechanism creaked. 

“Oh,” he said.

“Aang.” Katara slid off the speaker and stepped towards him.

Aang held up both hands. “No. It’s fine.” His voice scaled up. “I’m … I’ll go. I know when I’m not …” He shook his head. “Not wanted.”

“Aang, come on.” Katara stepped towards him, but he was already whirling and marching out of the room.

Zuko rubbed his face. Why did everything have to be so complicated?

Katara shot him a pained look. “I have to —” She waved a hand after Aang.

“I know,” Zuko said.

Katara reached out and squeezed Zuko’s hand, almost shy again, and then legged it after Aang into the crowded venue.

Zuko dropped his head back and groaned.

* * *

 

Katara caught Aang halfway across the dance floor, already crowded. She grabbed his wrist, trying to pull him back, but there was nowhere to go. People pressed in on her from all sides.

Aang turned to her. His eyes were red rimmed, mouth a hard slash.

She nearly shoved him out of the crowd and over to a dark corner where there was no one but an exit sign to overhear. The band was loud so she had to shout over them. “Aang, come on. Let’s talk.”

“No.” He pulled his wrist from her grip, stepping back. Katara’s heart nearly broke — this was her best and smallest friend even though he was a head taller than her now, and she couldn’t stand to see him look so sad. Despite the things they’d gone through recently, she didn’t want him to ever  _ ever _ look at her like that.

“Aang.”

“I don’t want to talk!” He waved his arms back towards the Green Room, but Katara didn’t look. She couldn’t risk seeing Zuko and …

Zuko. She  _ kissed _ Zuko. What on earth was happening?

“You seem to have made your choice!” Aang finished, mouth twisting in a sneer.

That took her aback. Heartbreak was too much for her. That sad look. But this? Blame? Anger at her for making a choice about her own life? Absolutely not.

“My choice?” She put her hands on her hips and leaned back, surveying Aang. “As in between him and  _ you _ ? Is that what you’re implying?”

“Obviously.” Aang shoved his hands into his pockets, skinny arms pressing against his ribs and raising his shoulders defensively. “I mean, you didn’t want me, but you’ll go suck face with him in some grungy Green Room.”

“I —”

“You could have just told me you wanted him instead of me. What is it? He’s older? He’s more talented? Or is it that bad boy thing?”

“I just don’t think of you like that!” Katara snapped.

“Great, thanks.” Aang rolled his eyes. “Friendzoned.”

Katara just barely stopped herself from slapping him. “We talked about this!”

Aang pursed his lips, not looking at her. “Yeah, but …”

“Oh, but it’s harder when I move on with my life?” Something clicked. “Is this why you hated Jet so much? I didn’t even think of that.”

“Jet was an asshole.”

That was true so Katara couldn’t argue, but she knew. “You were  _ seventeen _ ! I wasn’t going to date a highschool student, Aang.”

“So it’s because I’m young?”

“It’s because I don’t want to fuck you, okay?” She didn’t know where that had come from. Somewhere in the back of her head, she knew Aang had the right to be upset — not at her, obviously, but he had the right to feel — but right now she wasn’t willing to give him that benefit. Maybe it was because of everything. Maybe it was because she had  _ made out with Zuko _ and was freaking out about it. It was all too much of a complicated ball of emotions to pull apart.

And so she wasn’t at her best.

Aang stepped back as though she’d actually hit him. His face, already pale and angry, sunk in on itself, becoming almost skeletal. Deep grooves formed around his mouth.

“Fine,” he said, just loud enough to be heard over the song. “I get it.”

“Aang, I didn’t —”

“Didn’t mean it?”

Katara pressed her lips together. She  _ did _ mean it.

“I didn’t want it to come out like that,” she said.

“So why don’t  you go fuck Zuko instead,” Aang said with real venom. He took advantage of her shock to shove past her, stomping out of the venue without even stopping in the Green Room for his bag.

Katara leaned against a dirty wall. Her head hurt. She wanted to be happy, but she couldn’t be. Why couldn’t she just have one nice interaction with a man without everything devolving into dramatics?

When she looked up, she saw Zuko across the room. He wasn’t alone. Azula had found him.

Without thinking, Katara was off and moving, weaving through the crowd towards them. Her heart pounded in her throat. What  _ else _ could go wrong tonight? Everything, if Azula had anything to do with it.

Zuko looked up as Katara approached. A shy smile pulled at the corner of his mouth when he met her eyes. That made her belly warm. A blush formed in her cheeks.

Of course, the worry and anger in his eyes quashed all of that pretty quickly.

Azula turned. “Oh, good. Katara. You’re here.”

Katara folded her arms. “Did you enjoy the show?” she asked with ice in her voice.

“No. You’re not very good.” Azula waved a hand. “But that’s not why I’m here. Actually, I wasn’t here for any of you. Just for Zuzu. To remind him that whenever he gets bored of playing with you children, he still has a place to come back to.”

“Fuck off, Azula,” Zuko growled.

Katara looked from one to the other. Since she stood on the side that put Zuko’s scar in darkness, she could pick out the distinct similarities between the two of them. Azula and Zuko had the same small mouth and flat, upturned nose. Azula wore more makeup, but Katara was willing to bet that they also shared the same thick eyelashes.

“What’s she mean, Zuko?” Katara asked.

Azula laughed. It wasn’t nice. “Oh, hasn’t he told you? Daddy’s forgiven him for being such a whiny asshole. He says Zuko can come back to the band — and the family business — whenever he wants.” She fluttered her eyelashes at Katara. “Didn't he tell you that?”

Katara glanced at Zuko. “No. He didn’t mention it.”

“I’m not going,” Zuko said. “There wasn’t any need to tell you.”

Katara narrowed her eyes at him, but he didn't look at her. 

“Oh, he’ll come back.” Azula waved a hand. “He won’t be able to resist. Imagine it, Katara. Being able to come home again after getting kicked out. Who  _ wouldn’t _ want that?”

“I wouldn’t,” Zuko said.

“Mmmm.” Azula sounded doubtful. “Well, just so you know, we have a practice on Tuesday night. I’m sure Mai would like to see you again.” She winked at Katara. “Mai always knew how to make you appreciate the band.”

A spot of color lit in Zuko’s face. “Why don’t you go kick a puppy, Azula?”

For the second time that night, Katara grabbed Zuko’s hand to drag him away from his sister. Anger — at Aang, at Azula, at herself — still pulsed through her veins. “I need to talk to you,” she said and left Azula grinning behind them.

“What’s wrong?” Zuko took over and pulled Katara to the far corner of the bar. He leaned against the wall, leaning towards her. “Is Aang okay?”

“No. He’s pissed off because I ‘chose you over him’.” Katara put air quotes around the words, too mad to allow Aang’s accusations to feel like her own. “He stormed out. I don’t know what to do.” She rubbed her hands over her face. “Ever since you joined Avatar, everything’s gotten so chaotic and dramatic. I don’t know if I can handle it.”

Zuko’s eyebrow drew down into anger that was all too familiar to Katara, although she’d assumed they were past that. “Wait, how is this my fault?”

Maybe it  _ was _ his fault. Katara thought it over. Her anger was so close to the surface that it had to go somewhere. And it was true. Before they’d met Zuko, everything had been so much better. No one was mad at anyone else. It went smoothly. Maybe things had been boiling under the surface, but they hadn’t been boiling  _ over _ , and sometimes that was all that mattered.

Zuko had brought all kinds of emotions to the forefront of both the band and Katara and that just couldn’t stand.

“Yes,” she said, drawing herself up so she could look him fully in the face. Part of her wanted to push him up against the wall and make out with him again, but she quashed that. She was trying to avoid drama, and the only way to do that right now was to burn all her damn bridges and start fresh. “It  _ is _ your fault.”

“Because you wanted to kiss me?” He was angry now. Good.

“You wanted to kiss me first!”

“How is that even an argument?” Zuko ran his hand through his hair. “You’re really pissed at me because you think I’m  _ making drama _ ?”

“Aren’t you?” Katara challenged, folding her arms. “What have you done since you got here except make my life more difficult?”

“You weren’t saying that ten minutes ago.”

Katara’s face burned. She looked away. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

“Oh, so you’re also mad at me because  _ you  _ want to jump my bones?”

That was exactly why she was mad, but she couldn’t agree with him. That would make her look stupid. That voice in the back of her head was at it again, telling her she was being crazy, but she just couldn’t handle this anymore. She wanted everything to go back to the way they used to be, when Aang wasn’t always mad at her, when she didn’t have to work out her feelings for bad tempered guitarists. 

“Maybe you should take your sister up on her offer,” Katara snapped. “You’ll fit in better with them.”

“With Queen Bitch and all her mini bitchlings?” Zuko waved his hand. Their voices were loud enough that some people were looking at them now, but the band was still playing and everyone was busy, so no one came over to check on them. “With my dad, who may or may not have started a fire because I disagreed with him? You think that’s where I belong?”

Katara bit her lip, shut down every emotional, affectionate part of herself, and said, “Well you certainly don’t belong here!”

Zuko’s mouth snapped shut. Anger burned in his eyes for a second, then extinguished like a dropped match. He dropped his head. “Okay,” he said quietly.

She almost felt bad, but it was too late. He’d already pushed away from the wall and was on his way to the door, head still dropping, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. Katara almost called after him — the realization was dawning that she’d really  _ really _ fucked up — but pride glued her mouth shut.

Zuko paused by the door to the back. He pulled it open. For a second, Katara thought he’d look back, but he didn’t. Instead, he stepped into the Green Room and disappeared.

Katara sank down onto a barstool and put her face in her hands. Her head spun. Everything was wrong and bad and terrible and it was all her fault.

And her mouth still tasted of his cigarettes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Why can't we just have nice things?" I hear you all saying. And to that, I'm...sorry, I guess, but also I've basically never written a nice, conflict-free romance in my entire life and I don't intend to start now. I have a whole degree in writing interpersonal drama and I refuse to squander it.


	28. Chapter 28

The hammering on Katara’s door started at seven thirty in the morning. Groaning, she roused herself from the bed of shame and anger — and also blankets — that she’d laid awake in all night to answer it. Feet cold on the bare wood between rugs, Katara made her way down the hall and through the living room, waving away Suki’s questioning bedhead when she opened Sokka’s door to see what was wrong.

Katara pulled the door open.

“What the  _ fuck _ did you do?” snapped Toph.

“How’d you know it was me?” Katara asked as Toph shoved her way into the apartment. She was in such a pushy mood that her shoulder actually slammed into Katara’s, sending a shot of pain through her. “Toph, ow! Be careful.”

Toph rounded on her, pale eyes narrowed. Her dark eyebrows canted so low over them that Katara couldn’t see where they started and her eyelashes began. She slammed the tip of her cane into a nearby end table. “What the fuck happened last night? Why is Aang freaking out and sulking? And where’s Zuko? I texted him to figure out where he went last night, and he said he ‘wasn’t coming back’. What the hell does that mean?”

“Why do you think it was my fault?” Katara snapped, even though it definitely was.

“Because when Aang and Zuko are both being fuckasses at the same damn time, it’s probably something to do with you.” Toph’s hand flicked back and forth, tapping the cane against her instep. “I don’t know what it is with and those fucking idiots, but I know something went down and I know you’re at the center of it.”

Katara groaned. “It’s not entirely my fault.”

“That’s close enough to an admission of guilt for me to kick your ass,” Toph said, folding her arms.

“Don’t.” Katara threw herself into an armchair. Weak sun slanted in through the window onto her knees. “I’m already pretty much feeling like shit. I don’t need an asskicking to make it worse.”

Toph’s hard jaw softened, but just barely. “What happened, Katara?”

Katara pulled her knees up against her chest. “I told Zuko to fuck off. That he didn’t belong with us.”

“Why would you  _ do _ that?” Toph snapped. She felt her way to the couch and fell into it.

“Because I was mad at Aang, because he was being an asshole.” Katara rolled her eyes. “Again.”

But Toph wasn’t having any of that. Her foot tapped against the coffee table leg. Behind her, Suki opened the bedroom door, leaning in the frame in a tank top and her underwear.

“And why,” said Toph with forced patience, “was Aang being an asshole?”

Katara put her forehead on her knees. “Because he  _ may _ have caught me making out with Zuko in the green room?”

“What?” Toph yelped.

“Oh,” said Suki.

Something  slammed in Sokka’s room and then he was shoving out past Suki into the living room wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and a look that spelled murder. “You were doing  _ what _ ?” he yelled. His hair fell across his face.

Katara groaned.

“Sokka!” Suki seized his arm. “Don’t pull that overprotective crap! I think she’s had enough of that lately, don’t you?”

“But —?” Sokka waed an ineffectual hand at Katara.

“Wait, so let me get this straight.” Toph clicked her tongue against her teeth. “You  _ finally _ hooked up with Zuko which we’ve all been waiting for, and then Aang freaked out, and then  _ you _ freaked out and now Zuko’s not in the band?”

Katara tried to find a lie in the words and couldn’t manage it.

Sokka, however, had something to say. He’d also found a pair of pants and was busily hopping on one leg to put them on. “Wait, what do you mean they  _ finally _ hooked up?” He looked from Suki to Toph and back. “You were all waiting for it? How come I didn’t know about this?”

“Because you’re oblivious,” Suki said sweetly.

“Are you trying to tell me that my sister has been mooning over some asshole —”

“Our bandmate,” Toph corrected.

“And I didn’t even notice?”

Katara groaned against her knees.

“You were busy trying to get into Suki’s pants,” Toph said, waving a hand in the vague direction of Sokka. “Stay on topic, please. We can discuss you being an idiot later.” She leaned forward. “So why don’t you go apologize to Zuko. We just got the band back on track. I can’t have your drama screwing us over every couple of months. Some of us want this band to go somewhere.”

“I want it to go somewhere!” Katara scowled around her legs, not that it had any effect. “This isn’t my fault.”

_ Yes it is _ , muttered that stupid little voice. Katara stomped a mental foot down on it. It had no right to be here, bothering her when she was trying to wallow in self pity.

“It is absolutely your fault,” snarled Toph, echoing the voice. “You’re the one with all the boy issues. I don’t get you, Katara. You’re so good at taking care of everyone else and making sure none of us make terrible decisions, but when it comes to yourself, you’re a total disaster. Even when you do something right, like jump on Zuko’s dick —”  
“ _Not_ what happened,” Katara snapped.

“ —  _ Even then _ , you manage to find a way to screw yourself over afterwards.” Toph finished, loud enough that Katara couldn’t interrupt her.

Katara leapt to her feet. She didn’t have to sit here and listen to this, even though Toph was one hundred percent right about everything she’d said so far. “Why don’t you mind your own business, okay?” she said, in the prissiest voice she could manage, and stomped off into her bedroom, slamming the door closed behind her. She tossed herself onto the bed, face down, and burst into confused, angry tears.

* * *

 

It had been three days since Katara told Zuko to leave and he still hadn’t heard from her. He’d heard from Toph — a lot from Toph — and from Sokka and Suki. Even a brief text from Aang, saying he wasn’t mad. But nothing from Katara. And yes, everyone else mattered, but Katara was the one he cared about right now. Her opinion was the only one Zuko cared about.

Maybe that was stupid, but she was the one who’d told him to leave.

He’d spent a lot of time in his small, quiet apartment. He’d gone to work and come home. He hadn’t touched his guitar.

And now he found himself parked on the curb in front of his childhood home, staring at his pale hands on the steering wheel. Over his shoulder, the ornate house loomed like a well-dressed boogeyman, radiating self-loathing and fear from its red siding.

He couldn’t go back there.

But he really wanted to.

He got out of the car. It wasn’t like he was moving back in or anything. But the life he’d been building up for himself away from his father and his sister was crumbling around his ears. And when things went bad, sometimes he just wanted familiarity.

And he couldn’t tell Uncle Iroh. Absolutely not. He couldn’t stand seeing pity in his uncle’s eyes, not about something as stupid as a girl.

The walk to the door felt like he was walking to a gallows. His hand was heavy as he raised it and knocked once on the front door.

It was Azula who answered, for which he was thankful. She looked Zuko up and down — the slumped shoulders and sleepless, bruise-dark eyes told her everything she needed to know — and leaned against the frame.

“She dumped you, huh?” Azula said, smiling.

“Fuck you,” Zuko told her, but there was no venom in his tone. Just exhaustion.

Azula stepped out of the way. “Come in. You look like shit. Daddy’s away but the girls are in my room.”

Zuko looked at the marble threshold, unwilling to cross that line. But he’d come this far, so it was stupid of him to lose his nerve now. But if he walked into that house, he’d be giving up everything he worked so hard for. Every friend, every laughing night, every soft glance Katara had ever given him.

Azula humphed. “Are you coming in or not? You’re letting in a chill.”

Katara’s voice echoed in his mind.  _ You don’t belong here. _

Zuko stepped into the house.

* * *

 

There was a knock on Katara’s door. She rolled over, putting her back to the door and staring at the rain running down the windowpane. She’d have to get up in a few hours. She had to go to work. It wouldn’t be fair to call out again.

“Katara?”

It was Aang. She absolutely did not want to talk to Aang. 

“Katara, I know you’re in there. I can hear the music.”

Shit. She leaned over and felt for her phone, trying to turn it off, but she couldn’t manage to find the right buttons.

“I’m coming in,” Aang said. 

The door opened. She didn’t look at him. “Go away.”

A sigh. Weight settled on the corner of her bed. “You’re going to have to come out of here at some point,” Aang said in that gentle voice of his. “Sokka says you haven’t been eating.”

“I ate yesterday.”

“Today is a new day. You have to eat today too.”

Katara groaned and put a pillow over her head. “You’re supposed to be mad at me.”

Aang laughed. There was some sadness in it still, but mostly it was a self deprecation that fit him better than Katara wanted to admit. “Toph told me to get my head out of my ass,” Aang said. “She was pretty insistent that there were more fish in the sea and that it would be ideal if I started looking at them instead of getting caught up in my own manpain.”

“That  _ does  _ sound like Toph,” Katara muttered.

Aang’s hand landed on her elbow. “I’m sorry I freaked out,” he said quietly. “I guess I just kind of built everything up in my head. I know I was being stupid and trying to control things even though I knew you didn't want me. That way. Which is fine.”

“Is it?”

Aang sighed. “Yeah, it is. I mean, I guess I’m still a little sad, but I’m not angry. And I’m certainly not angry at you anymore. That was … a really shitty thing to do.”

Katara stayed quiet for awhile and Aang did too. There was only the sound of rain on the window and the messy alto over distorted guitar issuing from Katara’s phone.

“What are you listening to?” Aang asked.

“Heavens to Betsy,” Katara said grudgingly.

“Huh.” Aang was quiet for a minute. “Isn’t that kind of punky for your — oh.”

Katara kept her mouth shut. As though it wasn’t bad enough that she was lying in bed on a Thursday afternoon being upset about a boy, she was listening to said boy’s music too. And of course Aang would figure that out. She was such a mess right now.

“You know,” Aang said gently, “you could go talk to him.”

“He won’t want to talk to me,” Katara said.

“How do you know?”

Katara rolled over onto her back, finally looking at Aang. His eyes were still sad, but the rest of his face had reached a kind of internal calm that Katara had never seen in a real human. It was the kind of thing reserved for sculptures of higher beings.

“Katara,” Aang said quietly, “anyone who’s ever met you wants to talk to you. People want to be around you. He isn’t any different.”

“That’s…” She pursed her lips. “I don’t really know what to say to that.”

“Okay, how about this?” Aang smiled. “If I was him, I’d want to talk to you.”

She laughed. “Okay, okay. Fair enough.”

“Why are you beating yourself up about this?” Aang scooted back so he could prop himself up against her pillows, staying far away enough that it didn’t seem weird to be sharing her bed. “It’s not like you.”

Katara sighed. “I thought I was past just blaming Zuko for all the bullshit things that weren’t his fault, and yet, here I am. Doing it again.”

Aang’s eyebrows curled into confusion. “So … stop?”

“Thanks,” Katara said dryly. “Helpful.”

He shook his head. His hair was getting longer than usual, hiding much of his birthmark. She wasn’t used to that. Usually he was proud of it, showing off the strange blue-grey stripe as something that made him different.  _ Special _ . Maybe in all of this, Aang had started to feel like he wasn’t special anymore. Which was too bad. He was. Smart, gentle, kind. A seriously good kid. Sometimes she lost sight of the other things behind the “kid” part, but she hoped he’d outgrow a lot of that. He was only nineteen after all, and there was a lot of pressure on him, what with school and the band.

She hugged him awkwardly, overcome by emotion. “Thanks,” she said, burying her face in his shoulder. “I appreciate … You didn’t need to do this.”

“Yeah, I did.” He patted her hair. “I haven’t been a great friend lately. It’s time I started making up for that. Helping you instead of helping myself. Letting you make your own choices.”

“Since I’m going to make them anyway?”

He laughed. “Basically.”

She looked up at him. “And I’m sure you’ve all agreed that I’m going to have to fix this myself. None of you are going to help out.”

Aang sighed. “We’ve all tried. He doesn’t want to hear from us. I mean, I’m sure it helps, but we’re not the ones he’s trying to hide from.”

“Am I scary enough that I need to be hidden from?”

“Yes,” said Aang without pause. She pouted but he just kept nodding. “You’re terrifying.”

She laughed.

“You  _ are _ a good friend,” she told him.

Aang made a face. “When I remember to be.”

“And you know that’s more important, right?” She glanced up at him. “Boyfriends are whatever. They come and go. But friends stay with you through all of them.”

Aang sighed. “Yeah, I know. I mean, I’ve lasted longer than Jet.”

“Way longer.” Katara squeezed him so hard she felt his ribs through his t-shirt. “I’m not going to forget you, you know that?”

“You know, I was trying to take care of you for once,” Aang said. “And here you are, reassuring me. Again.”

“What on earth would you do without me?” Katara asked.

“Screw up,” Aang told her seriously. “Like, all the time. Constantly. Really, without you everything would just go terribly all the time. I’m incapable of caring for myself.

She hit him with a pillow.


	29. Chapter 29

“You don’t have to play,” Azula said. “Or at least, you don’t have to play for the whole show. Just come on and play one or two songs. To get your groove back.”

“Groove isn’t my issue,” Zuko muttered, staring down at his guitar. It felt so strange to be holding it again next to Azula, about to play with Burn Bitches.

“Whatever.” Azula sighed. “Do you remember how to play?”

“Of course. What the hell do you think I’ve been doing since I left?” Zuko glowered at her. “Just sitting around with my thumb up my ass?”

“Don’t be a twat.” Azula folded her arms. She was in full show mode — more makeup than usual, hair secured at the back of her head in an intentionally messy fan. “I mean do you remember  _ our _ songs.”

“I’ll manage.”

Azula sighed. “It’ll have to do. Just come on for a few songs. It won’t be that bad.”

“Sure.” Zuko’s stomach felt like lead. He wanted to sink into the floor. Why had he agreed to this?  _ Just play one show, Zuzu. Just a couple of songs. What’s it going to hurt? You’re not really coming back if you don’t want to. _

Typical Azula. All coy, honeyed promises, and then she’d stab him in the back as soon as she no longer needed him. But he kept fucking falling for it.

But it was all he had right now.

Zuko lurked off stage, watching the band with his guitar balanced against his leg. He’d forgotten the power of Burn Bitches. There was always the issue of Ozai’s money and influence, but at the end of the day, they were really good. Azula had a technical prowess not usually found in a punk band, but her singing wasn’t there to be pretty. It was a high, almost childish sound, soaring high over Mai’s sharp drumming and Tai Lee’s deeply intricate bass. 

The crowd cheered. That was another thing, Zuko liked. A real punk crowd, all dressed in black and leather. For once, a crowd he fit in with. 

Azula turned to him. “We’ve got an old friend with us tonight,” she said, all sugar and sharp nails. “Zuko, come on out here and play a few songs.”

Zuko forced one foot in front of the other and stepped out onto the stage.

The lights were too bright for him to see much, so he didn’t even bother looking at the audience, but they clapped for him. Some of them at least knew who he was, what he was doing here. He missed having the laughing comradery of Toph nearby, but he kept far away from the drum kit this time. Mai certainly didn’t want his company.

He took a deep breath. Just play the song, Zuko. It doesn’t mean anything. Just play it.

The chords were familiar beneath his hands and for the three minute duration of the song, it felt like the last months of his life had never happened. If he kept his face away from the audience, maybe they’d forget everything — the fire, his expulsion from Burn Bitches, Avatar. Maybe he would too.

Forgetting might be easier.

He played another song. It was easier this time.

At the end, he threw his sweaty hair out of his eyes. Moisture caught in the stage lights, blinding him. He squinted through the lights at the crowd. Black jacket. Black jeans. A red t-shirt here and there, but otherwise —

Except.

Blue.

He peered at the splotch of color, right in the middle of the crowd,  heart pounding like he was a stupid middle schooler with a prepubescent crush. It couldn’t be. No way. Stop being stupid, Zuko, she wouldn’t come here.

But no, there was no mistaking those wild curls, the braids and beads holding them away from her face. She wore a blue dress and a wide white belt, sticking out against the black-clad punkers like a single star in a dark night sky.

Katara met his eyes and smiled.

“One more song?” Azula said, putting her hand over the microphone to turn to him.

Zuko pulled his guitar strap over his head. He didn’t look away from Katara. “I was wrong,” he said, not looking at Azula. “I don’t want this.”

“Zuko!” Her hand scraped against the mic, eliciting an unpleasant, flat noise that echoed across the speakers.

But he was already gone, off the stage, down the stairs, guitar still in hand. He pushed through the crowd — growing restless enough that Azula gritted her teeth and started the next song without Zuko — but it was harder to see from down here. There was no flash of blue between  the bodies.

And then a man with a fauxhawk stepped to one side and Katara’s skirt flashed out of the crowd. She was coming towards him and stopped as soon as she saw him. 

He took a few steps towards her and stopped too.

It would be really romantic if he just grabbed her and kissed her like some old movie.

Unfortunately, Zuko wasn’t much of a romantic.

“Hey,” he said over the music. 

She smiled again and immediately looked at her shoes — turquoise chucks, of course, why would she own any other color? “Hey.”

Zuko cleared his throat. “I’m …”

“I’m really sorry,” Katara said before he could figure out what to say. Her face was pink and her bottom lip was red, probably from chewing on it. She put the white toes of her shoes together, still staring at them. “I messed up. I didn’t mean to freak out, I just took all my anger out on you because I had … emotions …”

Zuko leaned the guitar on the nearby bar so he could fold his arms and lean back on his heels. “Angry overreactions are supposed to be my thing,” he said.

Burn Bitches stopped playing — Zuko knew from experience it was the end of their set. The crowd clapped. With the sudden decrease in noise, the space between him and Katara felt larger. He took a step forward, trying to bridge the gap.

“Yeah, apparently you’re rubbing off on me,” Katara said.

He resisted the obvious joke. It wasn’t the time. “You know, I should be mad at you for being mad at me, but I guess glass houses and all that.”

“We need you back in the band,” Katara said. “Toph told me I had to bring you back and she didn’t care what it took. She’s upset without you.” The corner of Katara’s mouth quirked up. “I’d worry  _ she _ had a crush on you if, you know, she was straight.”

Zuko grinned. “Are you implying you have a crush on me?”

It felt dangerous to say, but he was just so happy to see her.

Katara’s pink face darkened to red. “I thought that was obvious.”

“It’s hard to tell, what with all the screaming.”

She snorted. Zuko took another step forward.

“What about your sister?” Katara said. “I thought I’d have to free you from her clutches or something. You’re making this really easy.”

Zuko tried to reply, but like a summoned demon, Azula’s hand came down on Katara’s shoulder, nails digging into the blue dress. 

“Katara,” she said, voice like honey and sugar. “So good to see you.”

Zuko was in motion before his brain told him what to do. “Azula, let go of her.” He grabbed Azula’s wrist and pulled it away, dropping it like her hand was a snake.

“Calm down,” Azula said. She had a full beer bottle in her free hand and raised it to her red lips. “I’m just saying hi.” She looked Katara up and down. “Seeing what a sweet little girl like this is doing in a place so full of big mean punks.”

“Azula.” Katara’s voice matched Azula’s in sweetness. She fluttered her lashes. “Get fucked.”

A surprised laugh burst from Azula’s lips. “Well, well, well! Would you look at that. The kitten has claws after all.”

“I do!” Katara folded her arms over her belly. “If you’re not careful, I’ll put my little kitten claws through your eyes.”

Azula raised her eyebrows at Zuko. “You’ve got some weird taste in women,” Azula said. Her tone stayed light but the smile was gone from her eyes. “To think how far you’ve fallen since Mai.”

“We all have embarrassing exes.” Zuko shrugged, trying to exude the same lightness and failing as his hands balled into fists at his side. “I like to think I’m heading in a better direction now.”

Azula took another swig of beer. “Are you thinking of running away again? You can’t just come and go as you please. There needs to be some kind of band loyalty here.”

“If you wanted loyalty,” Katara said, “maybe you shouldn’t have kicked him out to begin with.”

Azula’s eyes slanted over to Katara. “Mind your own business.”

“This is my business.” Katara folded her arms. “I want him back in _ my _ band, so I have a stake here.”

“You just want to bone him,” Azula sneered.

Katara bit the insides of her lips. “Mind  _ your  _ own business.”

Azula smiled again, that cruel dragon smile that still gave Zuko nightmares. His heart landed in his throat, running a million miles an hour.

“You can’t have him back,” Azula purred.

“He can make his own choices,” Katara said.

Zuko moved to stand beside Katara, worried about Azula’s smile. “I’ve already told you, Azula. This was a mistake.”

Azula’s face twisted. “Pity,” she said. With a quick, practiced motion, she smashed the beer bottle against one of the small round tables. The base shattered. Beer foamed down with the glass, dripping onto the floor.

Zuko pulled Katara back, but Azula was faster. She lunged forward wrist twisting. Katara yelped. Fear spiked through Zuko’s bell. He pushed Katara aside, trying to catch Azula’s wrist before the sharp bottle got to him.

He missed.

Pain scored across his sternum and ribs. His t-shirt tangled with the glass as Azula twisted. Zuko stumbled back and Katara caught him.

“A real pity,” Azula said, staring down at him. She still held the broken bottle.

“Zuko!” Katara’s arms wrapped around Zuko’s shoulders. “Are you okay?”

Zuko managed a grunt. He couldn’t get his shirt out of the way to see the extent of the damage. It didn’t feel  _ great _ but…

Katara stood, dropping Zuko’s weight into the bar — he slammed his elbow against it and winced. “What is wrong with you?” she snapped at Azula.

“He had it coming,” Azula said, waving her free hand.

“Katara,” Zuko said. “Leave —”

Katara’s palm shot out. She slammed the heel of her hand down onto Azula’s knuckles. The beer bottle dropped to the floor, shattering. Azula stared at her hand, mouth open. Her eyes narrowed. She looked back at Katara.

Katara punched her straight in the mouth.

Azula yelped and stumbled back. Blood reddened her chin and teeth. She raised one hand to her face, looking more shocked than hurt. Her eyes widened at the blood on her fingertips.

Zuko tried to scramble to his feet, but he couldn’t get his legs under him. Katara positioned herself between him and Azula, shoulders hunched, fists up.

“Of all the —” Azula shook her head. “Stupid, ugly little bitch.”

“Call me a bitch one more time.” Katara spread her feet. Her eyes were steady and hard as blue steel. “I dare you. I fucking dare you.”

Azula looked Katara over. The blood on her face made her appear feral and cruel. But there was something in her eyes. A dark uncertainty as she watched Katara’s hands. Her gaze flicked to Zuko, then away.

She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, leaving a long red streak. “Keep him.” She spat the rest of the blood onto Katara’s toe. “If he can’t protect himself without some little girl to help him, I don't want him anywhere near me.”

The sneer was still plastered across Azula’s face, but it had lost some of its power. She offered Katara a tiny wave and backed away, keeping an eye on them until she was lost in the crowd.

“Holy fucking shit,” Zuko breathed, finally pulling himself to his feet. “Of all the crazy, stupid, incredibly hot things you could have done —”

Katara turned to him. Her hands shook and her face was bone white. She clasped one hand over the knuckles of the other. “Ow,” she said.

“What happened?” He tried to look her over for injuries, but saw nothing.

Katara uncovered her hand. Her second knuckle had split, probably on Azula’s teeth. “I’m not great at punching people,” she said. “Not a ton of practice.”

“Shit, I’d hate to see what you’d do if you had any idea of proper technique.”

Katara smiled, but it slid off her face immediately as her eyes dropped to his hand on his belly. “Oh no, let me see that. We have to get you to a hospital or something.

“It’s just a scratch.”

“Stop trying to be tough about it, that’s stupid..” Katara chewed her lip, hands reaching for Zuko’s chest. “Let me see.”

“No, really.” He pulled up his shirt. “It’s literally just a scratch.”

On his chest, right at the apex of his ribs, three or four curved lines scraped through his skin. Some blood had come to the surface, but not enough to form a full drop. The scratches formed a rough circle, from where Azula had twisted the bottle.

“My shirt caught most of it.” Zuko stuck his little finger through a fresh hole in the knit fabric. “Seriously, it’s not that bad. Like, at all.”

Katara stared open-mouthed at his chest. “I just punched your crazy sister in the face over  _ that _ ?” She looked up at him, eyes narrowed. “Are you  _ kidding _ me?”

“I tried to tell you, but you didn’t want to hear it.” Zuko dropped his shirt and leaned back on the counter.

“She is going to  _ murder me _ .” Katara put both hands over her mouth, panic in her eyes. “I can’t believe you didn’t stop me.”

“Did I mention it was super hot?”

“You’re going to get me killed because it’s hot that I punched your sister?” Katara said somewhat weakly.

Zuko reached out and took her hand, pulling her towards him. “You could kick her ass any day.”

“I’m freaking out.” Katara took a few steps towards him, resting her free hand on his chest. “I’m totally freaking out right now.”

“Okay.” Zuko wrapped his arm around her waist. He was freaking out too, but touching her, being near her, made it better. They should be getting Zuko’s stuff and exiting the building as fast as humanly possible, but he wasn’t thinking straight. He leaned down and rested his cheek against Katara’s hair.

“I thought you didn’t like PDA,” Katara said, voice muffled beneath his chin.

“I thought you didn’t like  _ me _ , so I guess it’s a day of surprises all around.” He clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth. "Do you wanna go get dinner sometime?"

Katara looked up at him. “Yeah, sure. But can we make out in public now so we can  _ get the hell out of here _ ?”

Grinning, Zuko leaned down and did as she asked.

* * *

“So are you guys like, dating now?” Toph asked. She leaned back against the wall, resting her head there and balancing on the back two legs of her drum stool.  


Katara glanced over at Zuko. He was pointedly looking down at his guitar.

“Uh,” Katara said.

“Probably,” Zuko managed.

“Then why are you sitting ten feet away from each other?” Toph asked.

Katara narrowed her eyes. “How can you tell that?”

Toph grinned, an expression so wide it shouldn’t be able to fit on a normal human face. “One, because you don’t sound like you’re anywhere near each other. Two, lucky guess. I’ve met you both so I have a pretty good guess that you’re being really awkward. Aang.” She reached out, feeling around for Aang, who was lying on the old practice room carpeting. As usual. “Yo, Aang. Are they super awkward?”

Aang glanced over at them, the skin under his neck puckering up as he craned his head around. “Yeah. It’s embarrassing for all of us.”

There was less sadness in Aang’s voice than Katara would have expected. When she looked at him, he grinned. Maybe all this had finally made him abandon his pre-teen crush. Finally.

“You two can look at each other, you know,” he told her. “We all know.”

“I don’t like public displays of affection.” Katara put her nose in the air. “I’m not some teenager who needs to prove her claim on someone.”

“So you have a claim on him?” Toph asked.

“Could we all stop talking about this?” Sokka threw a handful of scrap paper over his shoulder. They floated down to the floor, joining the rest of the papers. “It’s gross. My little baby sister shouldn’t be dati;ng anyone at all.” He waved a hand at Zuko. “Especially not this asshole. No offense, man.”

“None taken,” Zuko said.

“Oh, but it’s okay for you to have very loud sex in our thin walled apartment?” Katara said primly. “You’re right. I shouldn’t be bothered by that at all.”

“You can come over to my place,” Zuko offered. He still wouldn’t look at her, but he was smiling that dangerous smile that she was really starting to enjoy. “We can have loud sex there — ow, Sokka, don’t throw things at me.”

“See, this is why you’re an asshole,” Sokka said, balling up another handful of paper and readying it.

Katara refused to tell anyone, especially Sokka, that they hadn’t had sex yet. It had only been a week and a half. Not that she wasn’t interested just … not yet.

There’d be plenty of time for that later. Besides, Katara didn’t want to give up those early relationship makeout sessions. 

_ Relationship _ . Weird.

So Toph was probably right. They  _ were  _ dating.

Aang sat up. “Sokka, what are you working on over there?”

“It’s not done.”

Aang clambered up, his limbs more of a hindrance than a help. “It is for now. Let me see it. We need something to play and you can mess around with all your lists and sheet music later.”

“You’re so needy,” Sokka said, but handed his notes over anyway. Aang’s pale eyes scanned over the sheet, tongue tucked between his teeth, and then he nodded.

“Okay, we can give some of this a try.” He passed the notes to Katara. It was a couple bars of quickly scribbled notation, two lines of lyrics, and a lot of bullet points like “That thing Toph does with the high hat and the snare” and “Katara — dee dee DUM dee deedily de.” Thankfully, Katara was well used to Sokka’s notes and how to interpret them, and knew basically what he was talking about. Unlike Aang, she couldn’t see the whole that would come from these notes, but she was willing to trust Sokka’s musical gut. For now.

She handed the paper off to Zuko. Their fingers brushed and he smiled to himself before taking the paper. Katara’s stomach did a happy little flip.

“Okay, so here’s what he’s talking about,” Aang was telling Toph. Sokka jotted down a few more notes.

Katara reached out again and took Zuko’s hand, squeezing it once. Without looking up from the notes, Zuko squeezed back.

“Guys?” Aang looked around. “You ready?”

“Hell yeah,” Toph said, and slammed into the song like she was on a mission. Laughing, Katara dropped Zuko’s hand as they both struggled to catch up.

When Zuko caught her eye, halfway through the skeletal song, he winked and butterflies blossomed in her stomach like a bright bouquet of joy.  _ Dating _ ? A weird thing to think, that she was dating Zuko, but yeah. They were.

Probably.

  


**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I uh...I finished it. Of course, I have this worry it ends too fast but this is what I've got in my head, so this is what you guys get.
> 
> The only note I have about this chapter is that Burn Bitches is Bikini Kill and every description of Azula is basically Asian Kathleen Hanna and I'm not sorry for this.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's read and supported this as I've worked on it. I am amazed and honored by the outpouring of interest and excitement and love you guys have given me. This is my first serious foray into the world of fanfiction, so I was pretty much terrified the whole time. You've all made it so much less scary, and incredibly rewarding (and I've already got ideas for other things so I guess this is something I do now).
> 
> I'll probably be putting up more character art on tumblr (as [grapefruittwostep](http://grapefruittwostep.tumblr.com), where you'll find a lot of art and complaining. Please visit me there!
> 
> I have two last musical things for this story. One is the mix I created while writing it (and played obsessivly throughout - it's a mix of "songs about bands" and "songs that work musically") and the other is the list I've kept of every song that plays during the story itself. I hope you enjoy them.
> 
> Mix:  
> Twist Me to the Left-The Dollyrots  
> From Blown Speakers-The New Pornographers  
> Take It Off-The Donnas  
> Twilight of the Gods-Blind Guardian  
> Shadowplay-Joy Division  
> Oh Come On-The Julie Ruin  
> No Anthems-Sleater-Kinney  
> Turn Out the Lights-Big Bad Bobby and the Shoehorns  
> Indie Cindy-Pixies  
> Don't Give Up-Noisettes  
> Black Sheep-Metric  
> Baby Don't Dance-Mother Mother  
> Ultraviolence-New Order  
> Heads Will Roll-Yeah Yeah Yeahs  
> Enemy-Eve 6  
> What We Came Here For-Damone  
> Blue Monday-Orgy  
> Limelight-Rush  
> I'm in the Band-Bratmobile  
> Don't You Want Me-Zolof the Rock & Roll Destroyer  
> Bonus Track: Boston Band-Jim's Big Ego
> 
> Soundtrack:  
> Offer Your Light-The Devin Townsand Project _(Chapter One)_  
>  Dancehall Domine-The New Pornographers _(Chapter Two)_  
>  Interzone-Joy Division _(Chapter Five)_  
>  Supersonic-Bad Religion _(Chapter Eight)_  
>  Flux-Block Party _(Chapter Nine)_  
>  Dull Life-Yeah Yeah Yeahs _(Chapter Ten)_  
>  Break-in-Fugazi _(Chapter Eleven)_  
>  Cherry Bomb-The Runaways _(Chapter Twelve)_  
>  Frustrate Unnoticed-Damone _(Chapter Twelve)_  
>  Trapped Under Ice-Metallica _(Chapter Twelve)_  
>  Kick Me to the Curb-The Dollyrots _(Chapter Thirteen)_  
>  Don't Stop Belivin'-Journey _(Chapter Fifteen)_  
>  Up the Hill Backwards-David Bowie _(Chapter Sixteen)_  
>  Shit Luck-Modest Mouse _(Chapter Seventeen)_  
>  On the Verge-Le Tigre _(Chapter Nineteen)_  
>  Too Bad, So Sad-Metric _(Chapter Twenty)_  
>  Sheena is a Punk Rocker-The Ramones _(Chapter Twenty-One)_  
>  Hey Darling-Sleater-Kinney _(Chapter Twenty-Four)_  
>  Speak my Language-The Cure _(Chapter Twenty-Six)_  
>  Complicated-Heavens to Betsy _(Chapter Twenty-Eight)_
> 
> (I may have missed some in this list. Please let me know if I did and I'll dig out my notes.)


End file.
